


Hothouse Flowers

by lobsterMatriarch



Series: The Kids Aren't Alright [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bad Decisions, Divorce, Drugs, Father-Daughter Relationship, Multi, Romance, Sadstuck, Sex, Teen Angst, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 88,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobsterMatriarch/pseuds/lobsterMatriarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, your family looked that perfect. One by one, fight by fight, the pieces fell away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Wanna Miss a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the long anticipated (hah) sequel to The Kids Aren't Alright. Well, loose sequel, really. This one's going to be roughly 44 chapters. Please give it a shot, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Summary of part 1 for people who haven't read: Dave had trouble with some needles and some flashbacks after Sburb. Shit went down. He got better. Yeah, that's about it.

Act 1

**== > Be John**

It's past her bedtime, you know, and part of you feels like a terrible father, but these are special circumstances. Honestly, who gives up on a game of Monopoly before it's officially over? That would just be silly.

Well, that's what Casey says.

She yawns wide, blinking a little too slowly and swaying in her seat. You need to move your little silver iron forward, landing on her hotel and probably losing the game. Okay, maybe you're being a little financially creative in this, but you know she wouldn't let you give up. You have to get her to sleep somehow.

"Daaaaaaaad. You owe me money." She reaches, grabbing and missing the colorful cash by a couple of inches and slipping dangerously close to the edge of her chair. You hold her steady, planting the bills in her hand and closing her fingers around them. With some effort she tucks them under her edge of the game board; she doesn't have the energy to count them or sort them.

"I think this means you win, Caseadoodle."

"Mmm." She's blinking more slowly now. "You're not letting me, are you?"

"Case! What kind of scoundrel do you take me for?" She smiles through her struggle for consciousness, yawning heavily while you start packing up the board.

"You are! The game's not over." She runs a hand lazily over the die, fumbling with it until she can roll to take her turn. You manage to snatch the piece off the board before she can move it.

"It's time to sleep. You can't even keep your eyes open."

She blinks, forcing her eyes open and focusing too hard on the board. Her shoulders hunch over and she squints with the effort, peering too close to the board and nearly whacking her head on the table. She looks like you when you forget your glasses, and you reach over to cover her eyes before she hurts herself.

"Mmph!" She pulls your hand off her face, planting it on top of her head instead. "This goes faster when we have more people."

"Well, we could have gone over to see Dave and Jade…" you pat her slowly, feeling her fine yellow hair smooth out after a day of playtime. You wish you knew a little more about how to brush it.

She shakes her head, suddenly energetic again. "No. Their place is scary and we're not going. They should come here."

It takes a lot of effort to get Casey over to the Strider-Harley apartment these days. Doesn't matter how many years have passed, every time she worries that she'll walk in to see a broken mess and a bleeding Dave. You're not sure you can blame her, but it's much harder to reconcile your little family when Casey hates visiting their house.

You still miss Jade sometimes. You two formed a bond of sorts, fighting through all that misery together. Or maybe it's a bond that was always there, just waiting to be tested. Now she has her husband back, and you still have your daughter, and you can pretend that it's only once in a while that you find yourself waiting impatiently by the phone for her lunchtime call.

Casey finally found Jade's airsoft gun ("Did you really have to hide it, Dad?"), and you've been doing your best to train her with it. She insists that you're not doing it right, because Jade told her to always shoot on the exhale and you hold your breath when you fire. You know she's probably right, but the two of you have fun shooting at soda cans anyway.

Casey tucks her head into your chest, and you dread the day when she'll think she's too old for this. "Can you make them come visit us instead? And mom. Mom never does." She snuggles into your armpit, already half-asleep. "She was the best monopoly-er ever."

"Mom visits when she can. And you know she adores you."

"Mmm. I dunno. I don't think she likes me very much."

"What are you talking about? Your mom loves you more than anything. Kanaya too."

Casey sighs. "They love me. But they don't like me. I get in the way."

You pull her tighter, because you have no idea what to say to that. You wish you could tell her it's a lie and she should never, ever worry, but you sometimes think Rose feels the same way about you.

"…If she doesn't like you, she's missing out. I think I got the better end of the deal here."

You can feel Casey shift her face into your side, and the corner of her grin spreads just far enough for you to see it. "No kidding. We're awesome and going out with mom is, like, the most boring thing ever. She just talks about books and never wants to play games."

"Maybe next time we can bring Monopoly?" you offer, and she seems pleased. At least pleased enough to allow you to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom.

"Mmm. And Clue because Aunt Jane likes it, and Adam has to come play too."

"And Dave and Jade?"

"Aunt Jade and Uncle Dave can come too. But we have to keep an eye on them. Dave cheats."

You laugh, adjusting her in your arms. She's getting big, and you think you might be getting old. You're just about ready to pass out yourself, but you're not cruel enough to make a half-sleeping eight-year-old climb the stairs on her own.

She mumbles something into your sweatshirt. "What was that, Casemaster?"

Her eyes are half-lidded when she tries to look up at you. "And you can't ever give up. You have to play until the game is over." A yawn. "Those are the rules."

Her bed looks almost as inviting to you as it must to her. Your bones creak under strain as you set her down, and she barely manages to pull her socks off before curling up under the covers.

"Do you want CK?" Her big red squiddle is at the foot of her bed, and you make him tap dance for her at the edge of her pillow.

"Dad. I'm _way_ too old for CK now. He was for when I was little." You have to choke back a laugh, trying not to remind her that she's still only four feet tall.

"Alright, Casosaurus. Love you higher than the sky."

She wrinkles her nose at you, but she's a little too tired to hold back her grin. "Love you stronger than the wind." With a click, you turn out the light next to her, and make sure to take her reading light from her bedside table. You're not going to have her sneaking out of bed again.

You press a kiss to her forehead, wondering not for the first time today how it's possible that this warm, perfect little kid could ever have anything to do with you. She's beautiful and smart like her mom, full of energy like her Aunt Jade and sharply sarcastic like her Uncle. Where you come into play you can't seem to figure out, but you think you're just lucky to be around.

If Rose really doesn't want custody, she must be completely insane. You can't think of any reason you might have to ever waste a minute that you could spend with her.

In a moment of exhausted weakness, you open your phone.

**\- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 23:41 –**

**EB: rose?**

**EB: hey, casey's school gets out in a couple of months. think you could plan a longer visit? maybe a week or two...  
**

**EB: i think she'd be really happy to see you.**

**EB: doesn't look like you're online anyway.**

**EB: :(**

**TT: I'm here. Sorry. Kanaya needs some help with fabric choices.**

**EB: right. so, about that whole coming to see us thing?**

**TT: I'll be visiting soon. Roxy's party, remember?**

**EB: are you actually going to stop by to visit though?**

**TT: Are you insinuating that I would be in the area and ignore our daughter?**

**EB: ...**

**TT: John. Just because I am busy does not mean I don't care about Casey's well being. I am going to be there as often as I can.**

**EB: i know. but she misses you.**

**TT: I miss her too. Is she asleep already?**

**EB: yeah.**

**TT: I'll call at an earlier time as soon as I have the chance. I'd like to speak with her.**

**EB: could you? i think she'd like that.**

**TT: Of course. Until next time.**

**EB: okay. goodnight!**

**TT: Goodnight.**

**\- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 23:57 –**

In the moment it takes you to lean your head against the door frame, you realize that you have heard this all before. It's the same routine, with some vague future phone call promised that never comes and another present that Casey will never use.

Well, with any luck this will be the time that Rose is serious. You can keep hoping anyway. Until then, you'll wait on Dave and Jade to play Monopoly and bring out an old checkers set in the meantime.


	2. Good Ol' Fashioned Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is where things start to get a little weird. I really, really hope some of you guys trust me on this, at least enough to keep reading.

**== > Be John**

Roxy Lalonde is a crazy, wonderful human being. For a long time you had no idea how she managed to survive without any discernible job, relationship, or steady source of income, but here, seeing her in her element, it all makes perfect sense. She schmoozes with the best of them, sidling up to every influential politician, celebrity, and socialite that New Alternia has to offer. With some witty banter and a well-placed "wonk," it takes hardly any time for her to find the funding for Dave's new project. You're not entirely sure why she needed all of you here in the first place.

Dave seems pretty in his zone, too. He's got that carefully manufactured air of mystery that the media adores, and he's been flocked by reporters and silly girls alike since he entered the room. You suppose it's only natural, considering how few appearances he's made in the past few years. Jade and Jake seem to be getting by just fine in the corner, laughing at whatever inside joke they've come up with this week while Dirk rolls his eyes next to them. Nanna's in charge of catering, and she seems more than content to stay behind the counter. With a pang of longing, you wish she were out here so she might keep you company.

Rose is sitting in the corner, chatting lightly with some older guests. No doubt she's going on and on about literature, or psychology, or her wife's new fashion line. Something charming, intellectual, and far beyond your understanding, you're sure. You have to wonder why you aren't over there with her, as you have so much catching up to do.

She slides a hand around Kanaya's waist, and you remember why.

You find yourself hovering by the drink table like a geeky teenager in an ill-fitted suit. In fact, outside of your age that comparison is nearly spot on. How Roxy expects a suburban dad to fit in with her high-class friends is beyond you, really. All you can think about is your potential escape.

With a heavy sigh, you grab yourself another champagne. Rose looks so pretty in lavender, which is a thing you really wish you didn't notice anymore. You're debating making your excuses so you can go home to your daughter when a body moves in next to you.

"Old girlfriend?" this girl is unfamiliar, with a voice like a light purr. You stare at her in confusion, and she smirks. "Blondie. The pretty one. You keep checking her out."

Ugh. You wish you weren't so obvious.

"Try mother of my child." You finish your champagne a little too quickly. The new girl flinches.

"Tough break, honey." You take a moment to consider what kind of person calls a stranger "honey," and find yourself not caring very much. You wish the gentlemanly part of you could describe this stranger as pretty, or sweet, or a very nice and charming conversation partner, but "unbelievably smoking hot" seem to be the only adjectives your booze-addled brain can muster.

She glances up at you, quirking an eyebrow and smirking through heavy lipstick. You realize you have been staring. Shit.

"U-um. Sorry. So, what brings you here?" You try to save the situation before she slaps you and walks away, but strangely enough she doesn't seem to mind.

"Money. Same as you and just about everyone else in this room. See him?" she gestures over at an older gentleman. "If I play my cards right, he'll be funding my next three projects."

"Projects?" You're genuinely curious now. She's a girl on a mission. She doesn't seem to walk to talk about it any longer, though, instead taking your empty glass. She leaves her hand over yours far longer than necessary, you're sure, but whether or not you mind is questionable.

Okay then. Unbelievably pretty girl with a secret mission who wants to hang out with the weird poorly dressed dad by the drink stand. Nothing out of the ordinary here.

"She's looking, you know." The new girl glances towards Rose, ever subtle. "I think we should dance."

"Wait, what?" She's already got your hand, and you're not sure you could protest if you wanted to.

"If you ever wanted to make her jealous, now is the time." She fastens your hand around her waist, taking the other in hers. "You do know how to do this, don't you?"

And truth is, you do. You really do. You've watched and recreated enough terrible dancing movies to be surprisingly smooth at all of this. Even your new partner is caught off guard by just how much you know.

"Well, aren't you a charmer." she lets loose a wide smile, laughing a little when you pull her into a close spin. She's warm against you, and some part of your stomach swoops in giddy nervousness. It's been a long time since you've held anyone but Jade or Casey.

She circles her foot out to the side, and you help her swivel her hips in a quick ocho. Her smile is as strange as the rest of her, you notice; her face is smooth and eerily perfect, hardly even creasing as her laugh grows stronger. A single curl of deep brown hair falls loose next to her ear, and if you knew her better you might reach over to put it back into place.

"I'm John, by the way."

"Simone. Good to meet you, honey." Your name still isn't honey, but you aren't about to argue.

Songs pass, and you find yourself all across the party with strange Simone. You tell her about Dave's new musical project that you're supposed to be composing for, your best-man plans for the Strider-Harley vow renewal, and Casey's big move from second to third grade. She talks about her brand new apartment in the area, how she met Roxy in a club on ladies night, and the difficulties of keeping her website up to date with a busy schedule. Somehow you two end up quoting Ghostbusters at each other, and she makes you laugh so suddenly that you think you're about to snort up champagne.

The crowd is beginning to thin, but you're not quite ready to call it a night yet. Not when her smile is easing, with her teeth grazing gently over her lower lip. If you weren't feeling like an out of place teenager before, you sure are now.

"She's gone. We can stop the show if you like." You have no idea what Simone is talking about. Oh, right. Rose. That was someone you were supposed to be worrying about, you think.

"Show?"

"Of course. I can't just leave the poor little boy in the corner to sulk over his ex all by himself. That would be cruel." She traces a finger along the lines of your tie, and you have the sudden urge to stop her.

"But just a show? All of it?" Well duh. The unbelievably hot girl with a mission wants to talk to the poorly dressed single dad out of pity. That makes a bit more sense.

"It's always just a show, honey. But I gotta say, this one was a lot of fun." She winks at you, and you think you understand why she and Roxy are friends. "You've gotta quit it with the pining, though. A sweet guy like you could pick up a new girl, easy."

"What about you?" You blurt it out before you have time to think. Not as smooth as you intended, though you're not really sure what smooth is by now. She raises an eyebrow, and you guess you're already in it so you might as well keep going. "What if I wanted to pick you up?"

"Honey…"

"John. John Egbert. Give me a call?" You manage to yank a business card out of your pocket, and you find yourself wishing it were a little less… homemade. After a moment's hesitation, she takes it. Her carefully manicured nails are so bright against the black of an artifacted piano.

"We'll see, John Egbert." A kiss on the cheek later, and she's gone.

* * *

  
**== >**

Jade pounces on you the second you get over to her little corner. "Oh my gosh John! What was all that about?"

"Hmm?" You find your mind elsewhere, possibly with your hand on a slim waist and an ankle around your leg. "Oh, yeah. That. Um, I gave her my number, but I don't think she was really all that into me."

"What are you _talking_ about?! She was so into you! You guys were dancing forever!" Jade has to use her arms for emphasis, and you have to hold back a laugh. Maybe you all are just teenagers at the prom. Dave wraps his arms around her, pulling her backwards into him with a knowing smirk.

"Tell us the story, man."

You make sure your eye rolling is exaggerated and headache inducing for their benefit. "She felt bad for the loser in the corner and came to dance with me. Turns out she knows Roxy and really likes Bill Murray. Then she was gone, I don't have her number, and I doubt she's ever going to call me. You happy?"

"No!" Jade pouts. "She has to call you. You guys were too freaking cute."

"Cute. Sure." Dave interjects, smirk ever-present.

"Guys, seriously, it's not a big deal. I hope she calls, but she probably won't. Can this not be a thing? I just want to get home before Casey and Adam destroy each other."

"Uh huh. Can you do me one favor, though?" Dave's smirk is starting to get to you. "Tell me what her name is."

You're suspicious. "Why…?"

"Trust me. I just need to know."

There's something wrong with his face right now and you don't like it. "Simone."

He bursts out laughing, and you're more than a little annoyed. Jade doesn't seem to have any idea what's going on, either, but Dave's probably going to pass out if he keeps laughing this hard. It feels like a goddamn hour before he catches his breath enough to speak again.

"I fucking knew it. Dude, I think you just got played. That's Simone Rogers. She's a porn star."

Your turn to glance at Simone once again, running her hand along the lapel of the older gentleman she mentioned earlier. There's something lecherous about his grin, and she really, really doesn't seem to mind that he's staring.

You feel the start of a headache coming on.


	3. Stand By Me

**== > Be Casey**

The visit started out okay. It really did, and for a little while you thought that maybe things were going to be different. Mom read to you on the couch and you tried your absolute hardest to pay attention (her stories have all these words you don't know, but you don't want mom to think you're dumb!). Dad made dinner and Mom brought a brand-new scarf she had knit just for you. It's purple, and you liked it because it reminded you a little bit of her eyes.

She tucks it in around your neck, and you wonder for a minute if you can wear it outside tomorrow. It doesn't matter if it's summer; you're ready to show it off.

"Rose, Casey, food's ready!" His head pokes through the awning, and your mom is quick to withdraw and join him. Dinner smells amazing and you got pudding for later and Dad didn't even ask you to mash the potatoes yourself this time…

There are canned peas. He has to know better than that by now, you HATE canned peas.

"I see that look you're giving, Casey Egbert," he warns, carving up a piece of chicken. "It's good for you. You haven't eaten anything besides macaroni and cheese the past three nights, I don't think some peas are going to kill you."

"They might." They smell disgusting and they're all mushy in a puddle of pea juice. No way no way no way.

"They won't. These are the non-violent peas, I got them just for you." Your dad picks up a spoon and starts loading your plate.

"Ew, Dad! That's like half peas and no potatoes! No one can eat that many peas."

"I'll eat just as many as you do, and so will your mom." He spoons a heaping portion onto the other plates. "But if you keep whining about it we're not going biking this weekend."

"Biking?" Your mom perks up a bit. "Casey, how long have you known how to ride a bike?"

"It's been two years now mom. I don't even need training wheels anymore!"

"That's wonderful, I'm glad to hear it." She doesn't look glad, and neither does Dad. "I had just thought we were going to wait to teach you until a little later."

"Rose, can we talk about this after dinner?" He pauses to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and for one horrible moment you wonder what exactly your peas are floating in right now. There is no way you are putting that anywhere near your mouth.

"It'll only take a moment. Casey, dear, your father and I will be right back." Your dad deflates a bit, wandering into the piano room after your mom. You always know scary things are going to happen when mom stands up that straight, walking with purpose. She had her back straight when you were little, and she told you she was moving out.

On the bright side, absolutely no one is around to watch you throw your peas in the trash. You're busy helping yourself to the extra mashed potatoes when you realize you can still hear them talking in the other room.

"…she's nearly nine now, of course I had to teach her—"

"My issue isn't that you taught her," your mom's voice is quiet, serious. Scary, even. "You said we would discuss decisions like this. Riding a bike can be dangerous…"

"It's not dangerous if you do it right!" Your dad is hissing under his breath, and you sneak a little closer to listen. "She's got a helmet, and I go with her every time. She hasn't even ridden it to school yet-"

"I just wish you would have informed me before allowing our daughter onto a two-wheeled device that could possibly—"

"It's a bike, Rose." You can crack the door just enough to see them; your mom with her arms crossed and your dad rigid. "Not a two-wheeled device, a bike. And I mean, I would have told you, but it's not exactly easy to get in touch with you anymore…"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I would really like it if you could look past your new life sometimes and see your daughter!"

Your mom looks so cold, with her arms crossed and her back rigid like that. You wish they would stop fighting and come back out; you'll stop riding the bike and everything if it's that big a deal.

"I call her as often as I can, and I'm here for at least one weekend every month. If I could be here more I would…"

"Don't lie." Your dad covers his eyes with his hand. "Kanaya calls more often than you do. Casey's going to start calling her mom pretty soon."

"Isn't that what you want, though? It seems like every time I'm here you're so eager to tell me how I'm not being a proper mother."

"Rose, you know that's not true!"

You feel sick. You don't really want to be listening to this anymore, but you can't bring yourself to move away from the door.

"It is, though. You resent me, and I can't pretend that you don't have reason to, but I also can't pretend to be something I'm not."

"I don't resent you!" Dad has forgotten all about volume control by now, voice echoing loud enough for the whole house to hear.

There is a moment's silence, with the shuffle of fabric and your heart beating so loud you're sure they must be able to hear it.

He brings his voice back down before speaking again. "…Fine. Maybe I do, and maybe you should try to suck it up for a while for our daughter's sake!"

"Yes. Our daughter, who we agreed would be better in your care."

"That doesn't mean—"

"You know I love her dearly, but my being here will not be good for either of us. I will be involved, I will make sure she knows I've not forgotten her, but I don't see why you're so insistent that spending time together is necessary."

"…What _happened_ to you?" Your dad sinks down onto the piano bench, collapsing into his hands.

She slides down next to him, voice gentler than before. "I made a choice. Casey has you and Jade and Dave, and Kanaya too. She will be fine. There are just some things I wasn't meant for."

Your body finally unfreezes, and you are done with listening. You don't care how much noise you're making, or that you didn't finish dinner, or even that there's ice cream waiting in the fridge. You barrel up the stairs to your bedroom as fast as you can, ignoring your Dad's muffled shouting behind you.

CK is waiting for you on the bed, a stupid adorable grin forever stitched into his face. There's a thumping of footsteps below you, doors opening and closing, and the sound of the car starting outside. You try your best to ignore it, but the tires squeal away and all you can do is cry.

* * *

**== >**

Your Dad is at the door, knocking quietly, and you don't have the energy to make him go away. Footsteps draw closer, and your mattress sinks under the weight of a new person.

"Caseadoodle?" He rubs your back gently. "I'm really sorry you had to hear that…"

"It's fine." You mutter. "I don't care. Tell mom to stay away and leave us alone."

"You do care, and that's okay."

"I don't!" It doesn't matter, you keep telling yourself. Mom was right. You do have Dad and Dave and Jade, and Adam and Jane and Kanaya and Karkat and Dirk and big Dirk and they all _like_ spending time with you. Having Mom read to you and bring you presents isn't that great, and you don't need her either.

"Hey…" He wraps an arm around your shoulder, and before you know what you're doing you have your face buried in his side. He pulls you into a hug that feels more wonderfully protective than you want to admit.

"You don't hate me, right?" Your voice is nearly lost in the cotton of his shirt, but you think he can hear you.

"Never. Love you higher than the sky." His arms tighten around you.

"…so why does mom?"

He stills for a moment, holding you very close before kissing the top of your head.

"She doesn't hate you, Case. Not even a little."

"She went home, didn't she."

"…Not because of you."

"Then why?" You're sick of sniffling, but holding it in isn't working very well. You keep telling yourself that you're not a crier, you're not a scaredy-cat, you're not ready to let mom win. You just wish your eyes would listen.

His hand rubs soothing circles into your shoulder. "She left because she has Mom things to worry about, and I promise she will call you as soon as she can."

"She better." You wipe your nose and pull back, refusing to meet your Dad's eyes.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, his hand on your shoulder while you glare down at CK. You shouldn't be glaring at CK, either; this isn't his fault. He's just so easy to glare at.

"Hey you." Your Dad's voice is so startling you nearly jump out of your skin. "What if I brought out the pool tomorrow?"

You blink in surprise. Dad hasn't brought out the inflatable pool in over a year.

"It might be a bit small for you by now, but if we get the sprinkler going too it could be fun."

"…You're just trying to change the subject." Dad only tries changing the subject when there's something wrong that he can't fix.

"Mhm." He nods, a light smirk spreading across his face. "Is it working?"

You pause to think. "Can Adam come too?"

"If he wants to, I don't see why not. I'll have it set up tomorrow."

Well… you're okay with this. "I'm gonna call and ask him right now!"

"It's getting late, Casey. He might be in bed by now, like you should be."

"I am in bed." You grin.

"Sleeping." He pushes you down with a finger to your forehead, and you flop back into the pillows with ease.

"I don't wanna be sleeping, though, I'm not even tired! All mom did was read me a book and then get mad and leave. I should at least get to watch TV for a bit."

"No sleep now or no pool tomorrow. Your choice." You hate it when he does that, but you squeeze your eyes shut anyway. There's the click of a lamp turning off, and you hope he hasn't found your hidden reading light yet. You can play a little more after he leaves.

"Goodnight, Casemonster." He kisses your forehead and pulls the blankets up over your shoulders, and for a little bit you can forget about fighting and two-wheeled devices and the sound of your mom driving off into the night.

* * *

**== > Be John**

You're exhausted and drained and close to crying yourself, but out of frustration more than anything. Casey needs her mother. It shouldn't be that difficult to figure out, especially for a professional psychiatrist.

You take out your phone to call her again, only to realize it's already vibrating. It takes you a moment to steel yourself in anger and set your mind straight.

"Rose? Listen, you have some serious nerve running out on us like that, if you don't—"

"Wow, honey, you really know how to make a lady feel welcome."

You nearly drop the phone in embarrassment. "Simone?!"

"That's right, but if you'd rather keep shouting to your baby mama be my guest."

"N-no! I mean, no." You fumble a bit, trying to get the phone a little closer to your ear. Oh god, she's actually _calling_ you. Why would a po— adult actress be calling you?

"So you gave me the right number after all. Want to get dinner tomorrow night?" She practically purrs it into the phone, and your stomach flips its way up to your throat.

"Yeah… I mean, wait, no, I promised Casey I'd spend tomorrow with her. Um… is next Friday okay? Or the weekend?"

"Next Friday sounds great. Pick me up at seven? I'll text you my address."

"Right. Course. Seven. I'll be there…" You're in a bit of a daze. This was just about the last thing you expected after such and exhausting night.

"See you then, honey. Wear something nice." The line goes dead before you can get another word out.

You toss the phone down on your coffee table and sink into the couch to relax.

…You have a date. Your daughter is having a crisis because her mom thinks spending time with her is unnecessary. What are you _doing_ , and more importantly, why are you so stupidly giddy about it?


	4. "Enter Name"

**"Enter Name"**

You cannot enter a name as this is no longer a game. This young man's name was given to him at a foster home before his adoption by Dirk Strider and Jake English. It is not this young man's birthday, but you should still be aware that he is ten years old.

**== > Be Adam A.H. Strider-English**

Your name is ADAM and you are TERRIFIED OF EVERYTHING.

Some people might think you were being hyperbolic, and they would probably be right. You are only scared of some things. Dogs, planes, bikes, cars that drive over the speed limit, standing up in front of a crowd, getting sick, breaking a bone, and being alone in the dark to name a few. These fears can sometimes make you prone to PANIC ATTACKS, which is only compounded by the fact that you are afraid of having panic attacks.

You have an INHALER to treat your asthma, a set of HORN-RIMMED GLASSES to treat your nearsightedness, and a DEFIBRILLATOR to treat your occasional arrhythmia. You have not had to use the defibrillator before, thank god, but your doctor recommended it to you anyway.

You have a strange feeling that your dads were not expecting having to deal with all of these health complications, as they had already built you a number of toys you cannot use. There is a ROBOT in the corner that Dad insists was once meant to be used for sparring, and a collection of FIREARMS in the closet that are still too heavy for you to hold. Dad always wants to train you in "the noble art of FISTICUFFS," but you find your asthma is too much for you to handle in those situations.

Instead of these things, you have found your PLAYBILL COLLECTION to be a very important part of your life. Your Dads often shake their heads in wonder (disappointment?) when you ask to bring home a new addition; they had no idea there were so many non-musical entries into the theater world. God knows you can't have musicals in your playbill collection. Those things are dumb.

You might be a bit of a wacky kid.

**== > Examine room**

You keep your room as neat as possible; you must be sure that you can always find things when you need to. Hence there is really not much to examine. You have several textbooks organized alphabetically in the corner as well as a very nice CALCULATOR. You might not be able to compete physically, but you are terribly, terribly clever. In fact, if you were not so clever, one might even think you were a horrible joke played on your Dads by some ill-mannered master of fate.

They love you, though. You know they do. They just have a funny way of showing it that sometimes includes longing looks at the weapons rack.

Your Dad, Dirk Strider, is still aiming to take his role in POLITICS. You can really admire his ambition, but you find his techniques to be underhanded sometimes. He is currently running for governor, and you think his campaign would be going much more smoothly if he were willing to be courteous and speak to the public of his own accord.

Your other Dad, Jake English, seems set on opening his own dojo. He tells you on a too-regular basis that this is not a jab at your lack of physical prowess, and he doesn't love you any less because you can't be a student. This is just a job. You would not have been offended if he only said this to you once, but you don't think he means badly.

You are a very hard worker, and ambitious in your own right. Though you have very little idea of what is "fun" for you, you know that sense of accomplishment after a job well done is enjoyable. You are already very intensely focused on your studying, and can accomplish a lot in a very short period of time. In fact, your Dad sometimes leaves his business finances in your hands, and you are more than capable of acting as an accountant.

You are busy pondering the difference between fun and work when your phone starts buzzing.

**\- macaroniMayhem [MM] began pestering embersEngineer [EE] at 14:27 –**

**MM: adam!**

**MM: you have to come over today!**

**EE: I do?**

**MM: yes!**

**MM: dad put a POOL outside**

**EE: Wait, really?**

**EE: As in a legitimate in-ground pool?**

**EE: How did he manage something like that so quickly?**

**MM: i am rolling my eyes at you**

**MM: you cant see it but i promise its happening**

**MM: no its just one of the ones you blow up and run around in!**

**EE: Oh. That makes significantly more sense.**

**MM: duh!**

**MM: but you should come over and we can use it**

**EE: I'm not sure. Did you fill it with water from the hose?**

**MM: oh my god yes but theres no germs in it so just come over!**

**EE: There are germs in everything, Casey, don't be silly.**

**EE: And I think I'm probably getting too grown up for this sort of thing…**

**MM: please?**

**EE: You know my immune system isn't great.**

**MM: pleeeeeeeease?**

**EE: Are you sure it's set up on flat ground?**

**MM: totally sure! pretty pretty please and ill go see one of your boring plays with you?**

**EE: I'm fairly certain you said that last time.**

**MM: well…ill go see two of your plays with you and they wont be boring at all**

**EE: ...**

**EE: …Fine. But if I get sick this is on your head!**

**MM: awesome!**

**MM: see you soon :)**

**\- macaroniMayhem [MM] ceased pestering embersEngineer [EE] at 14:41 –**

You sigh to yourself in discontent that you can't fully bring yourself to believe. Sure her adventurousness can get a little wearisome sometimes, but you quite enjoy spending time with Casey. She is your BEST FRIEND after all. There are times when you worry that she only spends time with you because of your Dad's not quite familial relation to John, but you can ignore this more often than not.

You make sure to pack a bag, just in case. The Egberts are not great about having a proper first aid kit in the house, and you need your TAMBOCOR at all times. You briefly consider walking, but decide instead that you should ask your Dads for a ride while they're here.

You make your way to the living room, where they are in the middle of a rather loud and arduous strife once again.

"Hey Dad?"

"Yes?" "Sup?" They both turn to face you in perfect unison. You have tried insisting on calling Dirk Dad and Jake Pop, but you've found that neither one of them is ever willing to answer to Pop.

"I need a ride to Casey's house. Can one of you drive me?"

Dad speaks up first, and you flinch a bit. You were hoping it would be Dad. Dad tends to drive a bit too fast.

"Jolly good, son!" He detangles his arm from its lock around your Dad's shoulder. "I needed to head out that way anyway!"

"Whoa, hold up." Dad interjects. "So you didn't tell him yet?"

"Tell me what?" You don't like it when they have to tell you things. Usually it's something like "Brobot accidentally broke your calculator" or "the doctor says there's something wrong with your heart."

"So, little man," your dad's kneeling at your level, and you find yourself worrying once again that he's not been properly disinfecting his facial piercings. "We've got to go away for a while. You're going to be staying with your Aunt Roxy."

Yeah. You hate it when they have to tell you things. "When are you leaving?"

"Tonight." You put on your best poker face while your Dad ruffles your hair. "But it's only for a couple of days, I promise. AR isn't handling the crowds too well and I have to do some sweet-talking."

"As if you're capable of sweet talking, Strider." Dad crosses his arms.

"That's why I need you to come with me. Be charming at the camera. Double pistols and a wink, all that jazz." Your Dad is right. Dad is certainly better at winning over a crowd than he is.

You want to ask if you can come too, but you already know that's going to mean either a plane, a train, or a car that's driving way too fast. Instead, you head back to your room and start packing for real. Dad follows, a little less cheery than usual.

"Son, I'm terribly sorry that we put this on you so suddenly. I only hope you'll be willing to let bygones be bygones, and not let my oversights ruin your time with Casey."

"It's okay, Dad." It's not. "You'll be home soon, right?"

He runs a hand through your hair. He was always so proud that you had thick dark hair and glasses, and that you looked almost just like him. "As soon as we can. Love you terribly, little man."

You manage the slightest smile. "Love you too."

* * *

**== >**

Dad gives you a ride to see Casey, and you know he feels bad when he drives under the speed limit and everything. You hop into his arms and give him a hug goodbye, because you know he won't be the one picking you up.

Casey's already outside in her swimsuit by the time you get there, and the pool is actually a little bigger than you anticipated. John dumps a bucket of water onto her head, and she shrieks in surprise before splashing back. You are positive someone is going to get hurt today, but you don't really have much time to dwell on it. Casey's advancing on you with that bucket, and if you want to stay dry you are going to have to run.

"Casemeister! You have to at least let him get his swimsuit on!" John starts, but it's too late. It's wet and cold and you're on your butt in a puddle of mud, and you barely even had time to put your stuff away. Part of you wants to curl up and hide, but you hold it in as best you can.

Casey's laughter fades when she realizes you aren't laughing too. "…Adam?"

You're trying too hard not to cry to be able to answer her. She's kneeling by you now, and John's coming over to see what happened. You wish they would just stop looking at you and let you sulk in peace.

"Adam?" John's voice this time. "What's going on?"

You're soaked is what's going on. You're wet, you're probably going to catch a cold and you're not even going to be able to go home to change your clothes afterwards.

You have to lift your glasses to wipe your eyes, and John is rubbing your back. "Oh no, did she hurt you? Casey, you can't be so rough with people!"

"I didn't mean to!" she insists, imitating her dad with a hand on your back. John's got that worried look on his face, the one that only makes you feel worse about being so fragile.

"I'm not hurt. My Dads are going away and I have to stay with Roxy again." Your lip is quivering and you hate it.

"No! But Aunt Roxy's house is tiny and far away, and she has _so many cats_ , and wait a second!" Casey slaps her hands to her mouth. "You should stay with us! Can he, Dad?"

You don't want to get your hopes up, but staying with Casey sounds a lot nicer than heading back to the couch in Roxy's living room. John grins.

"Of course. You know we've always got space for visitors. But only if you want to. Would you rather stay with your aunt?"

You shake your head, relieved that you were smart enough to pack tissues in your makeshift first aid kit. John picks up his phone.

"Alright. I'm just going to let your parents and Roxy know. Casey, can you go help him unpack the futon?"

Casey nods, and the two of you run inside. It only takes a couple of minutes to get your bed set up, and a couple of more to turn their living room into a second home.

"Adam." Casey starts, serious faced. "Dad and I are so much cooler than Aunt Roxy. You know you should always call us first."

"Really?" You're not sure you believe her. "It's not a problem?"

"Why would it be?" She tucks a flashlight under your blanket for later use. You don't really have an answer for that.

* * *

**== >**

The next two days pass in a blur, with days spent outside in the backyard and nights spent building forts on the couch. She sneaks out of bed with movies and games to play, and you teach her to build a catapult out of popsicle sticks and tape. Keeping their promise, your Dads are home before the third night to pick you up. You find yourself and Casey hiding in the closet to buy some extra time, and you're sure to give John a too-long hug goodbye. It doesn't take very long for Dad to load your bags into the car, or Dad to clear Cal from your seat.

"Have fun, kiddo?" Dad asks, fidgeting slightly with the ring in his lip.

You nod, and he reaches into the backseat to ruffle your hair. "Good. We brought you home a present."

And then Dad, overeager as ever, reaches into his bag and pulls out a playbill for "A Midsummer Night's Dream."

"We didn't actually go, but there were plenty extra lying around the theater. Thought you might hate us a little less."

You don't hate them at all. Sure, your family is hardly orthodox, but you love your Dads more than you could say. You love them, and you love the Egberts, and you even love your Aunt Roxy when she's not asking you to sleep on a couch covered in cat hair.

You snuggle the playbill into your chest, catching up on some much needed rest that your time with the Egberts never quite allowed for.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dad dad dad dad dad dad dad I am getting tongue tied just trying to type this.


	5. Turn Another Page

**== > Be John**

You don't really know what you're supposed to do on a date. You've never actually been on one before.

Your romance with Rose was all a bit of a whirlwind, sweeping you up in the glory of being alive without really having time to stop and think about the practicalities of it all. You didn't need to date; you became gods together. She left her girlfriend for you. Marriage only seemed to be the next logical step in your life, and "rushing into things" wasn't even a worry that crossed your mind. You would settle down in your beautiful new universe, forget your god powers, have children, and move on with your lives.

Part of you still wishes it had been that easy, but you learned the hard way that it never is. Rose still had adventuring left to do, and you were ready to leave that behind.

Casey tugs at the edge of your blazer. "You're missing a button, Dad."

"I know, Case, but this is the only one I've got."

She frowns, looking him over quickly. "Why can't you just wear a t-shirt? You look fine in a t-shirt."

You open your mouth to give an answer, only to find that you don't really have one. Why _do_ people need to dress up on dates? I mean, you might look a little bit fancier, but you're still going to be you and she's still going to be some crazy wild party girl that there's no way you'll be able to relate to.

_Relax, John. She's just a person like anyone else. She called you first because she obviously wanted to see you, right? I mean, there wouldn't be any other-  
_

Casey scoffs, effectively interrupting your train of thought. "Can't you just stay in tonight?"

You squeeze her shoulder gently, hoping to be comforting. "I've stayed in with you every night this week, Caseadoodle. Besides, I thought you liked seeing Aunt Jane."

"Aunt Jane is fine. But this is really stupid." She's bitter, focused down on the carpet as if she could will it to catch fire.

"What's stupid about it?"

Her scowl tightens. "I don't like her."

"You've never met her, Case."

"Uncle Dave says she's fake and you're being dumb for agreeing to this. He says that you ignore the bad things about people and you get swindled."

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Your Uncle Dave hasn't met her either. And this is just one night, just to see how things go. If she seems fake or mean I won't see her again."

"Promise?"

"Promise." Her hair is soft under your touch, and her scowl relaxes a bit.

"…..You have to come pick me up before midnight, though. If you don't I'm never ever going to like her." Her voice is stern, pout put firmly back in place.

"Mmm. I'll think about it." You manage to hide your smirk, watching her frown vanish in panic.

"You have to! You can't just leave me there!"

"I could, if I really wanted…"

"No!"

"Hmm." You cover your chin with your hand, pretending to be lost in thought. "Tell you what. If you're really, really good for your Aunt, I'll be back before midnight."

Her eyes are wide with fear, and you would feel guilty if this wasn't so completely amusing. "I will be the best kid you have ever HEARD of!"

"Good. But I'm calling Aunt Jane to check." She bends her head forward in sullen silence, and you kiss the top of it when she offers. "Now are you going to help me pick some flowers, or is that too cheesy?"

* * *

**== > Be Simone**

It's silk on skin, silicone and spit, his breath on your thigh and your fingers clutching at the ground beneath you. The electric hum of a plastic toy and a well-placed shout of pleasure. Or that's what you would like to sell, anyway.

Really, they're both pretty nice guys. You've met them once or twice at some backstage events, and they've been incredibly professional and a joy to work with. You did your line beforehand and let them blow their load on your face, and now you can all congratulate yourselves on a job well done.

It doesn't take too long for you to wash your hair or sober up, but you always feel a little worse for wear after shoots like this. It's easier just to sit for a while and let your legs regain their composure. You don't do shoots with men very often, and with good reason.

Unfortunately, this is what your directors have been pushing for. Masturbation is nice, but it's not what brings in the money or the crowds. You have to make your directors happy; if they're not happy, the producers aren't happy, and if the producers aren't happy you don't get new jobs. Ugh. You're more than ready to head home for a well-deserved bubble bath and a chance to lie down.

Or so you think, until you realize that it's Friday and in about an hour you promised you'd meet up with that guy from Roxy's party.

You take a step forward, and your legs are just not having it. Not today. You can't do it, not when you're ready to sleep where you stand. You move to grab a soda can from the cooler, pressing it to your cheek to relax. Once you're in the car, you can call him to cancel.

* * *

**== > Be John**

You've just finished dropping Casey off when your phone starts to ring. You leave it alone. It's a force of habit more than any rudeness; you never wanted to set a bad example for your daughter by answering your cell phone while driving.

* * *

**== > Be Simone**

He's not picking up, and you're almost to your apartment at this point. Honestly, this is why you don't date. People are unpredictable and more often than not out to screw you, and no amount of pushing on Roxy's end will convince you otherwise.

_He's goofy, but a total sweetheart deep down. Come on, bb, it's time you get to know some people around here.  
_

Not for the first time, you curse Roxy Lalonde and her misguided attempts at matchmaking. For god's sake, he has a kid! This crappy calendar mix-up is clearly a sign from the universe, and when he gets here you'll just tell him to go away. You can soak in your bath in peace.

You pull into the complex parking lot, wincing as you pull yourself out of your car. Every muscle in your lower half groans in protest as you bend down to unsnap your heels. Part of you wishes you had thought to bring sneakers with you, but your bare feet on the ground feel almost as nice.

He's waiting for you already. You have no idea how he got there so quickly (he must be early) but he's pushing on the buzzer and getting no answer.

"...man, of course she blew me off. This whole thing is just-" You tap him on the shoulder, and try not to laugh when he jumps about fifty feet.

"Simone!" Okay, his smile is kind of cute. Props to Roxy for that much.

"Hey, honey." He's completely awkward, unsure of how to greet you. If you're honest, you don't really know how to greet him either. "Sorry, long day at work, you know? Hate to drag you all the way out here for nothing, but I think we might want to call it quits."

"Oh! I mean… I got here early, I guess it's not really fair to expect you to be ready. I can wait out here if you want." He grins, running his hand through his hair. Oh the poor, deluded sweetheart.

"Honey," You pause, trying to find an easy way to let him down. "I'll be honest, I'm in pretty bad shape. I really think it's better if we call this off."

"In bad shape?"

"Like I said: long day at work. I'll be terrible company."

He eyes you up and down, finally taking note of your bare feet and wobbly legs.

"…you just got back from a shoot?"

You wish you could say you were shocked, or even mildly surprised, but that's most definitely not the case. Of course he figured out what you do for a living; you're not exactly low profile. You were just hoping to skip this conversation and whatever ridiculous commentary he might make.

"Yeah, and it was a tough one. So if you don't mind…"

"Can I help?"

That is a bit more shocking. He's concerned, really, obviously, foolishly concerned about your well being while he slowly takes your heels from your hand.

"I mean, at least let me carry your bag upstairs. If you're sore that doesn't really seem like a good thing to do by yourself..." The sweet smile on his face is more than enough to set you on edge.

You sigh, way too tired to be polite about this right now. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Mr. Gere. I charge $150 for a blowjob and you'll have to do it on camera."

"What?! No!" His smile's gone, and fast. "You really think that's… wait, what?"

"A quick touch is free for fans, if you don't have the money..."

"Hey! I don't... I just thought we were going out!"

"And afterwards?"

"Afterwards I'd drive you home and... I don't know. You're probably right, this was a bad idea."

He sets your shoes back at your feet, mouth twisted into something close to a pout. Even as your bitter cynicism screams that he's got an agenda you can't help but feel he might be honestly upset.

He's leaving now, and certainly not turning around. Somewhere, deep down, you feel the slightest tug of guilt.

"Hey, wait a second…"

"No, Simone. You were right and it's not really my business. I'm going home."

"I can't carry my shoes." It's the first thing you can think of, and idiotic and untrue as it might be it gets him to turn around. He stares at you blankly, raising an eyebrow in skepticism.

"They're heavy and I'm sore." You play up the femininity, using your most charming smile as you shift your hips. "You're not really going to leave a lady to walk up to her apartment all by herself…who knows what kind of creepy shoe-thieves are out there?"

He hesitates. "Shoe-thieves aren't a thing."

"Do you really want to take that chance, hon? Wouldn't you be kicking yourself if something happened?"

"It's a couple of flights of stairs."

"If it's that short, then come with me." You've almost got him, you can practically see his gears turning. "I'll make coffee."

After a moment's pause he sighs, picking your shoes up off the ground a little more aggressively than he needs to. "I'll walk you to the door, and then we say goodnight, okay?"

"Fine," You smile. It might be nice to have some company for the slow walk up.

Taking the stairs is habit for you, if only because the elevators in your building move fast enough to make you nauseous. John isn't very good at being offended, you've found, and is quick to take your elbow when your knees start to give. Against your better judgment you apologize for making assumptions, giving him time to scowl and roll his eyes and insist that "he's not like that, he has a daughter." As if that automatically makes a difference.

You reach the door a little quicker than you would like, with his arm leaving your elbow as soon as you reach your floor. You lean on your door frame casually, poised, and perhaps a bit too relieved to be taking the weight off your feet. You think his type might be the "girl next door," so you flip your hair lightly and break out your sweetest smile.

"So how do you take your coffee, honey? I've got an espresso maker if that's more your style…"

"Simone, I told you we were going to the door. This is the door."

"Are you still upset?"

"I'm not upset, I just…" He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He's got some sort of terrible gel in it, and you almost want to laugh at the way it keeps standing on end.

"…I'm just kind of sad that I can't do this. You're great, and I'm not going to pretend I don't like you because I really really do, but this is too much for me. I don't want to be accused of being your—" he pauses to chuckle. "Your john, I guess."

"We don't have johns, honey. We have co-stars."

"Well whatever, I really didn't want to be anything except your date. But… I wish you the best, and I hope your legs feel better soon. Oh!" He pauses to fish through his pocket. "You probably have some already, but just in case. Them and an Epsom salt bath will work wonders."

In his hand is a packet of travel-sized aspirin, which you take in silence. He kisses you goodnight, light on your cheek but lingering maybe a touch longer than he needs to. With one last smile, he disappears down the staircase.

You linger maybe a touch longer than you need to as well, and for a while you wonder if literally kicking yourself might make the sting go away. It's just the sting of rejection in general, of course. It's got absolutely nothing to do with him or his goofy, sweet smile, or the aspirin that you're tucking into your purse.

You exhale and retreat to your apartment in silence. Right now an Epsom salt bath sounds too amazing to ignore.


	6. Killer Queen

**== > John: let time pass**

She's been in and out of your life for weeks now, and there are very few things more confusing to you than trying to talk to her. No really. Quantum Physics must be easier than trying to figure out what exactly she's saying to you.

She's beautiful, that's for sure, lounging with her feet up over the arm of your upholstery while covered in a tank top and not much else. She knows it, too. She moves slowly, lazily, winking at you while shifting her hips in just that right way to make your lower stomach a bit too tight.

"Like what you see, honey?" Her voice is soft and low, and you blush like a teenage idiot.

She bites her lip to hide a smirk and you are pretty sure you must be stuck in puberty again. The silence goes on far longer and more awkwardly than it needs to. You take a moment to shake it off; she's not getting the best of you this time.

"What are you doing here, Simone?"

"I came to see you. Thought you'd be thrilled about that."

The pressure in your stomach shifts, building instead in your forehead. You pinch the bridge of your nose to relieve it.

"I thought we weren't going out again."

"We aren't. I'd rather stay here." Her hips shift again, bringing her knee up slightly.

"That's not what I meant! Simone, you can't just be barging in here whenever you feel like it. Casey's gonna be home from school soon!"

"Cool. Are you going to make her a snack, or should I do it?"

"Simone!" She turns to face you, her face revealing not much besides mild surprise.

"What?"

Syllables are the enemy right now. They betray you, lodging themselves firmly in your throat and causing you to sound even more like a sputtering jackass than you usually do around her.

"Wh-What… I… You… date… aagh!"

"You do want to go out, then? I mean, I guess we can if you really want, but we'd have to find someplace we can bring Casey."

"That is NOT what I MEAN. It's always like this, we meet, we have a great time, and then POOF, out of nowhere you're gone. I don't even know…" the confusion and frustration and pressure of it all is starting to wear on you. You have to push her hand away when she reaches out to pull at the waistband of your shorts.

"I don't want to have sex with you, okay? Can't you just leave well enough alone?"

"Honey, I was bored and looking for a little company. I thought you might be up for it, but if you're not I can go." She reaches for her pants and jacket, and out of sheer impulse you move to stop her.

"Wait! I mean, wait. Can't we just talk about this for a minute?"

Her eyes are sharp when she turns to look at you. "What's there to talk about? You don't want me here, and you don't want me to see your daughter, so I should leave, right?"

"It's not like that! Jeez, I just don't get you. We're not dating, right?"

"Definitely not."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I like you."

"And you're not seeing the problem? Really?!" You're about ready to pull your hair out from frustration and she still barely looks phased. Her stupid, doe-eyed blinking is too much for you to deal with, and with a shout you retreat to the kitchen.

Simone wasn't wrong about Casey being hungry after school, and you have to slam through the cupboards to find her an instant mac and cheese. She's been flitting about for a long time now, bumping into you at parties here and there, meeting you at restaurants, clubs, even showing up at one of your gigs while insisting she had no idea you were playing. Sometimes she'll go for dinner with you, sometimes she's busy. Once or twice she's even kissed you. Still, anytime you attempt to call her for a date, or ask her to be your girlfriend, she's gone faster than you can say "commitment issues." So what if she's charming and smart and oddly good at quoting Ghostbusters? You can't be letting this kind of instability run your life. You have a little girl to worry about.

You're planning your second rejection speech in your head as you turn on the faucet to fill the macaroni; it's only the angry, freezing cold spray that wakes you from your internal monologue.

"OH MY GOD that's cold that's cold ew ew ew ew ew…" Simone erupts in laughter behind you while you spot the rubber band fastened firmly around the spray nozzle on the sink.

"Oh honey, the look on your face…" She manages to choke it out between laughs, doubling over to rest her hands on her knees. Through the ice cold spray soaking through your shirt and your bangs clinging to your glasses you can see the smile light up her face. You have to give it to her, she got you pretty good. Maybe you can put off the speech until you pay her back tenfold in tickles.

* * *

**== > John: negotiate**

After a surprisingly difficult conversation and a little bit of bribery, you manage to get Simone fully clothed to greet your daughter. It takes about fifteen minutes of glaring before Casey gives in and says hi, and another five before she's fascinated with Simone's thick, shiny hair extensions. Simone doesn't really know what to do with herself at first, sidestepping Casey as if she were a land mine, but her vanity couldn't handle that much beauty talk without giving in.

Casey's set up her homework in front of the TV, and Simone seems to be more than willing to step up and help while you finish planning for your show tonight. After a couple of hours that involve more M&M air hockey than actual math problems, the two of them have devolved into hair braiding tips and a chocolate-induced stupor. You can't help but smile as Casey starts on a fifth braid in Simone's dark hair.

Coat? Check. Comfy shoes? Check. Tie? Of course. It's a clip on now, since Rose isn't around to help and you have virtually no idea how to do it yourself.

"Oh my god, are you really going out like that?" Simone looks borderline horrified and Casey giggles behind her.

"Um, yes? This is what I always wear to shows."

"No wonder you haven't made it big, honey. It's all about image. The music isn't enough, you've gotta look like the whole Sinatra fantasy. Hold still." She musses up your hair easily, running a quick thumb over your eyebrows and removing your clip-on tie. "Better."

You open your mouth to thank her when your phone rings. She smirks, grabbing it out of your hands to answer it before you can even get a word in.

"Sinatra's phone, Nancy speaking. Oh, hey Jane." Jane. Crap, that could be important. You have to wrestle her a bit, but you finally manage to pry your phone away from her.

"Janey, sorry, it's me. What's up?"

"Hi John" Jane's voice is rushed and nervous on the other line. "Listen, there's been an… incident. A walk in food critic, and they want every meal on the menu tonight. I have to stay and help cook."

"Wait, really? I mean, congratulations! But right now?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And Casey?" You glance to her in the living room; she's completely enamored with the short French braids running in pigtails down her neck.

"She can come stay in the kitchen if she really needs, but I'm afraid it will be terribly boring…"

Shit. Casey hates staying in Jane's kitchen at night. They will definitely be open far past her bedtime… but it's not like you can bring her to a dive bar with you.

"It's okay, Jane. I can cancel tonight. There's always next week." Casey and Simone are both looking at you now, Casey with mild curiosity and Simone with concern.

"I'm so sorry, John. You know I wouldn't do this if it wasn't important."

"I know. Good luck Nanna."

"You too."

You hang up, trying your best to control the frustration that's been building on and off for you all day. You might have been playing it cool, but this gig… it's important. You need the cash, and you need the bar's owner to keep her respect for you. Half the jobs you get are from her recommendation.

"Dad, does that mean Aunt Jane isn't coming over tonight?" Casey's face falls. Jane's a favorite playmate of hers; there is virtually no one else in the world willing to spend as many hours playing Clue.

"Doesn't look like it. I'm going to stay, though, so don't think you're off the hook with that homework."

Casey nods, returning to her forsaken math problems while you retreat to the kitchen to make your phone call. It's only when you have the number ready to dial that the hand on your shoulder startles you.

"Honey, are you really calling this off? I thought you liked playing this place." She runs a hand through your hair, soothing your nerves and sending the slightest of shivers down your spine. You sigh and relax slightly into her touch.

"I do. But Jane can't make it and I don't think I can call anyone else on such short notice. I can't leave Casey on her own."

"You realize there is another fully grown and capable adult woman in the house?"

…Oh hell no. She can't be suggesting what you think she might be suggesting.

"I could stay with her. We were having some good girl time anyway."

The pressure in your forehead is back. This girl has been flitting in and out of your life without any rhyme or reason and she expects you to trust her with your daughter? Your hand finds the bridge of your nose once again, pushing your glasses up gently to reach.

"Don't make that face, honey. She's a good kid, it's not like she'd get into any trouble whether or not I was here."

"I know that, Simone." You have to pause, trying to think of the least offensive way to phrase the alarm bells sounding through your head. "But um… you're not exactly the most reliable person?"

She folds her arms dangerously, raising an eyebrow as one perfectly manicured finger taps along the crook of her elbow. You force a swallow.

"Well, I mean, that's fine and everything when it's with me, but Casey's a kid. She needs someone who's not going to… erm…"

She's silent, still staring you up and down. Her face is icy, impassive. Shit, you probably could have said that even more politely, or maybe you could have said you felt sick and needed to stay home anyway…

And then she laughs, and the release in your chest is more surprising than anything.

"Believe it or not I actually know how babysitting works. I don't leave until you get home, I make sure she goes to bed on time, gets her dinner, gets her homework done and all her clothes ready for school the next day. Play your show, we'll be fine."

You want to trust her. You really, really do. She was good with Casey today, and she's good with you, and your heart might be beating way too quickly in your chest with the distance between you slowly closing.

She kisses you, soft and reassuring and somehow still forceful, and when she pulls away her face is bright with a smile. "For good luck. Now go."

It's just one night, and you don't really have a choice. Casey likes her. It'll be fine. It will totally be fine. This is a whole new level of fineness you are reaching. So fine. Okay. Satisfactory. All right. Suitable. Appropriate. All of these things.

You keep chanting this to yourself as Simone literally shoves you out the front door, blowing a kiss for luck and shutting it behind you.

* * *

**== > John: worry**

It seems like you get better and better at worrying as time passes. Maybe it's a parent thing. Who knows? Either way, you call it quits at the bar without an encore and collect your tips, practically sprinting back home to make sure Casey hasn't been abducted into the backstage of a porno shoot.

You bust open the door, probably more dramatically than necessary, and try to ignore that rush of giddiness you get from acting like an action hero.

"Casey?!" Crap, it's past midnight, she has to be asleep. You have to try to keep your voice down. You round the corner frantically, skidding a bit on the carpet, and then your breath hitches in your throat.

Your daughter is curled up on the couch, her head on Simone's stomach. Her makeup is delicately done, a sharp contrast to the sloppy eyeliner and bright green eye shadow smeared on Simone's face. Simone's hand rests on Casey's hair as her stomach raises and falls, the lightest of snores escaping her nose.

You smile until you notice the pile of candy wrappers littering the floor next to them. If Casey has a stomachache in the morning it's going to be Simone's head, you swear. So much for being a "capable adult woman".

You scoop up your daughter gently, wrapping her in a blanket and lifting her to her bedroom. You're yawning, crashing after too many hours awake and stressing, but your Dad would carry you to bed no matter how tired he was and you'll be damned if you won't do the same. You press a kiss to her forehead and return to deal with the other sleeping lady on your couch.

Simone's stretched out now that the dead weight is off her middle, her arm falling over the side of the couch while her foot twitches slightly. She looks ridiculous, and possibly even adorable.

You make a little mental note. She may not be your girlfriend, or even your date, but you were an idiot for trying to write her off so quickly. If things can stay like they are right now… that's enough for you. You can figure out the rest later.


	7. Cat People

**== > Be Rose**

The words are flowing quickly today, you are pleased to find, though you have not looked back to check them recently. You know better than to begin proofreading when your story is just beginning to move forwards. You write of wizards and magic and fantastic beasts as if it were merely a fantasy and not a life you had experienced and then left behind. A part of you wonders if this chapter is reading as smoothly as it is writing, or if you are perhaps blinded to its flaws by an intense need for a distraction.

Your wife's judgmental stare has not let up for a long time now, and you are not willing to play those games today.

She sits across the room, stone cold and silent. She never breaks her gaze, occasionally clicking her tongue in quiet disapproval. No, you will not deal with her criticism today, not unless she is willing to speak her mind.

She clears her throat quietly, covering her hand with her mouth. "You're ignoring me, Rose."

Your scribbling halts, unwarranted; your streak is broken, and it doesn't take long for you to recognize today's chapter as an incoherent failure.

"You haven't said anything. I don't know if I should be called the ignorer or the ignored."

"I asked a question, and you've made the decision not to answer. I don't believe I'm far off in calling that being ignored." Her words are sharp and her eyes sharper, and you silently curse yourself for thinking she would ever believe that you had not heard her. No, keeping your head down and pretending has never fooled her before. It certainly wouldn't start working today.

" _Have you spoken to Casey lately?"_

Of course the answer is no, and you don't feel like explaining yourself all over again. You have been busy. You are extraordinarily exhausted from work. You've already called her to apologize, and she seemed to forgive you, so there really is no dire need. When exactly did Kanaya become so much more clever at reading you than you are at reading her, anyway?

"I think you already know the answer to your question," Your words have more of a bite than you would have liked. "And I think you're trying to pull me into a discussion I don't want to have."

"Perhaps. And perhaps you not wanting to have it is more telling than anything else." Her stare never falters, even as she crosses the room. Her hand on yours is warm, and despite your growing discomfort her presence isn't entirely unwelcome.

"Rose." Your name is soft on her lips, and the judgment on her face is gone. "You have been hiding from her. You have been hiding from John, and frankly I believe you have been hiding from me as well. I'm not sure how thoughtless you think we are not to notice."

There is so little that is salvageable from this chapter that you nearly feel guilty about the paper it was written on. You need to keep your laptop with you more often, you think. At least then you won't be killing trees with this mindless drivel.

Your once sympathetic protagonist has turned to a machine, focused only on moving forward in his life at the expense of any shred of human empathy. It's a bland, straightforward read, with the only excitement stemming from the discovery of a new spell.

"I suppose this is the part where you will tell me to stay out of your personal affairs and scold me for being meddlesome once again, but it's difficult to resist when you insist on pushing me away."

You believe he needs some bonding time with his former loved ones, but you have no idea how to write something like that. It would absolutely kill the pacing of your novel to have several chapters dedicated to such interactions, especially when time is of the essence. The destruction of the universe is imminent, and your protagonist knows as much.

"I wish you would speak to me. I fear that this road we are on might be dangerous."

But what about afterwards? Your ending will surely feel hollow if your protagonist only grows more powerful and then succeeds. Sure there is cleverness and scheming and endless adventure, but once the universe is safe, what will he have left? Will he just continue to search for power and purpose forever? Will that really satisfy your readers?

"Rose?"

You clear your throat, dropping your notebook into your lap. "I have a very busy day tomorrow, and I apologize, but I really need to focus. I have a full day of appointments and will be meeting with a potential publisher on my lunch break."

"Well. I suppose it's good to know where your priorities are." Kanaya's brows knit in thinly veiled anger, and you don't suppose you can blame her. Research has long since taken a backseat in her life, and your nights together in the library have dwindled over the years. She has friends and social commitments that extend beyond mutual usefulness, and you… you have work.

"Once the holidays are passed and my book is finished, I will have plenty of time for both you and my daughter. I'm only asking that you cut me some slack until then."

She's skeptical, and bitterly so. You recognize her lipstick application as a tick, one meant to calm her nerves. It doesn't seem to be working.

"You know, Rose," She starts, checking her lips in the mirror. "The universe is safe now. You can stop any time you like."

Something in you tenses, holding your heart in a vice. It passes nearly as quickly as it came.

Maybe you can rewrite a few chapters back. Your protagonist once had a love interest, and was happy then. Perhaps if you built a little more on that subplot, before he gave up and his former lover moved onto a new partner, that is definitely an interesting—

Kanaya is gone, and part of you hates yourself for not following.

You return to your notebook in silence, but there is nothing left in you to write. Your novel, once so wonderful and fulfilling, feels empty and soulless as of late. Ever since your daughter stormed up those stairs and away from you, nothing you've written has been worth reading.


	8. Anti-Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some stuff at the end. Sex and abuse and unpleasantries.

**== > Be John**

Simone's here more often than not these days, and you couldn't be more pleased. Coming home to find her waiting on your piano bench was a surprise at first, but you've gotten used to it a little too quickly. She tries her best, but she can only plink out the melody to Heart and Soul, so you sit her down to teach her some of the basics basics. By the end of the day she can run a C, G and D major scale without issue.

It's only a couple more weeks before she starts bringing sheet music for you, all the while trying her best to be a terrible distraction. Her voice is actually okay when she decides to sing along; it's when she wraps her arms around you that you start having issues.

She plants a kiss just under your ear, and your finger slips from E flat to D a little too quickly. Your practice might suffer, but there is absolutely no part of you that wants her to stop.

**== > Be Simone**

It's easier than you thought it might be, changing your schedule and giving up the nights out for nights in. You're in high demand these days; directors are more than willing to bend to your will. If you would rather go to Casey's softball game than a photoshoot, then fuck if you won't be at the game.

So you find yourself sitting here on a set of sun-scorched bleachers, booing a group of nine-year-old girls on behalf of a kid who isn't even yours.

You're vaguely aware of John looking mortified next to you, but Casey is thrilled. She grins and twirls the bat on her way to home base, walking with a swagger that only a kid her age could get away with. When she hits the ball on her first swing, you nearly explode in enthusiasm.

There are a couple of middle-aged moms giving you a dirty look from the next row over. You're about to shoot one back, but it seems like John has you covered. Casey's out, you're disappointed to find, but only because she paused between first and second base to wave to you.

**== > Be John**

For god's sake, you only have one futon in the house. You can't be dealing with this many guests all the time!

Adam's dads are away again, and Casey promised him a place to stay. You can't turn the kid away, not when your daughter is looking at you with big, sad, pleading eyes. But Simone is here, and she… well, you're not really sure what it is about sleeping in your bed that puts her off. You do plenty of other things in it.

You set up the futon, trying to think of the best way to go about asking.

_Hey Simone, wanna sleep with me? No, literally!_

_Simone, there is only one bed left in the house so you are going to have to cuddle me whether you like it or not._

_I'll build a wall of pillows between us if that helps?_

Those are all stupid. You'll just play it by ear.

Night rolls around, and you tuck all the kids into their respective sleeping arrangements. There's a set of squeaky toys outside Casey's door now, because you're tired of her sneaking out of bed to build pillow forts with Adam.

Sure enough, getting Simone into your bed doesn't seem to be a huge issue. She crawls over you, running her hands down your chest, taking you inside her while her eyes promise love and lust that you can't help but doubt the sincerity of. When you're done she collapses by your side, and you don't really think you have to ask her to stay.

You're heartbroken when you find her gone in the morning, but it doesn't last. Adam is curled up in her lap when you come downstairs, and she pets his hair lightly.

"You took away his sleep aid." Her eyes smile despite the bags beneath them. "He gets scared unless someone's here with him. And Casey can't come down anymore."

You have to blink a few times to make sure you're not still dreaming. It takes you three steps to cross the room and kiss away any doubt that she's here.

**== > Be Simone**

He's making fun of you, but you can't really bring yourself to care. Something about this is too adorable for words.

You thought you were going to be sexy, put on a little show for him while Casey was away at school. It's the sort of thing guys usually fall all over themselves for and pay you absurd amounts of money to see. But even when you hit your crescendo, sinking down between his knees, it was all he could do to control his giggles.

He's impersonating you now, moving his skinny hips from side to side in some horrifically ungainly attempt at performing. You're pretty sure that if you laugh any harder your ribcage is going to explode.

He grabs your hands, dragging you out onto his mini dance floor and sashaying in some bizarre cross between a waltz and a salsa. For a little while, you think you might have another shot at seducing him. Nope. He's having none of it.

You give up after his third attempt at twerking, and find yourself in the midst of a very serious funky chicken competition. His grin might be confident, but you have this one in the bag. No one can get lower than Simone Rogers.

It's only in the middle of your killer air-guitar solo that you notice he isn't dancing anymore. He just watches with a smile.

**== > Be John**

He's been staring at her all night. Yes, she looks inhumanly beautiful in the dim restaurant lighting and yes, you'd probably be wondering what she's doing with you too, but he licks his lips and you know that's not what he cares about.

She realizes what's going on as soon as you do, and squeezes your hand before heading over to the stranger's table. The perverted asshole asks his friends to take pictures, and she opens her shirt slightly for them to see some cleavage. There might as well be a cartoon puddle of drool forming under the table, the scumbag.

That's okay. You're not jealous. What she does for work is her business and you are just going to support yeah no, his hand is definitely on her boob and that is completely not okay right now.

She heads back to your table while still re-buttoning her blouse, and you don't even give her time to sit down before you catch her in a kiss.

"What was that for, honey?" Her grin is so serene, completely unfazed.

"Can you please be my girlfriend now?"

Ugh. It was stupid of you to ask, you're aware of that about ten seconds after you open your mouth. It's not the right time. It might never be the right time. She needs to be with you because she wants to be, and not because some creepy fan at a restaurant copped a feel.

She reaches for your hand in silence.

**== > Be Simone**

You're not sure about Dave, but Jade and Casey are sweethearts. They've got a game set up already, but they're quick to let you in. Casey looks at you blankly when you admit that you never learned how to play Pictionary.

"Who doesn't know how to play Pictionary?" You shrug. Everyone has gaps in their knowledge.

John sits in the corner with Dave, nursing a beer while Dave opens his second soda. You can see John's face getting redder and redder as Dave starts to manhandle him off his chair. That cutie of yours always was an adorable drunk.

Of yours. Huh. That's… not something you expected.

You're planning your escape for the night when Adam nudges your side.

"Aunt Simone. Casey's on Aunt Jade's team, so can you be on mine?"

You can't say no to this kid. Call it a weakness, because it probably is, but your soft spot just keeps growing. Casey gets in on the emotional blackmail, putting on her best set of puppy eyes, and together they are a force that your heart just can't deal with.

You play for a while, and you're happy to find that the rules are easy to understand. You can't draw for anything, but your partner is clever enough to figure it out more often than not. Casey, on the other hand, is a brilliant artist for her age, and she and Jade end up crushing you in the game.

"Hey pretty lady." You jump about three feet, as John's mouth is quite literally close enough to touch your ear. You turn to face him, and he plants a quick kiss on your nose. His face is flushed and his eyes are out of focus, and there's no way you could find him any more endearing.

You'll have to find some way out of here soon, before those butterflies in your stomach have you saying something rash.

**== > Be John**

"I love you."

Shit shit shit shit shit you meant to ask her what she wanted for dinner. That was so many levels of dumb, you have no idea if your spinal cord is actually even connected to your mouth sometimes. How could you let that slip out so easily?

Of course, it's not like it's a lie. You've known it for months now.

She eyes you over the edge of her tabloid magazine. "Why?"

Um. "That's kind of a weird thing to ask... because you're funny, I guess. And you're really good with Casey. And you've made me learn so many dumb songs that I don't know how to play anything else, so they're all going to waste if you don't enjoy them."

Her eyes are sharp. "Hey. There is nothing dumb about True Colors."

"There is everything dumb about True Colors, Simone. But I'll play it anyway if you want."

She folds over her magazine, revealing a slight smirk. "John. Your true colors are beautiful. Like a rainbow."

Well, it's not exactly the response you were looking for, but you'll take what you can get. You don't think you're capable of walking away at this point.

**== > Be Simone**

You're pretty sure there's something going on here that nobody is mentioning to you. When Casey shows John her skinned knees, the weather changes. The curtains will shift, just slightly, when he stubs his toe. Sometimes he sighs, and the room gets a little bit colder.

John explained to you once that Dave is managing PTSD, and doing much, much better than he used to be. He mentions that it stems from something he went through with three others: Jade, himself, and his ex. You ask if he wants to talk about it, but he never does.

You don't need him to explain; it's fine if he wants to have his secrets. Everyone has their skeletons in the closet, but not everyone will try to out-dance you on the funky chicken. You just wonder, sometimes, because all those windy coincidences are starting to stack up.

He's putting up a set of shelves in the garage; you watch from the awning in the back hall. He doesn't hold the hammer like a tool, but like a weapon.

**== > Be John**

She's stayed for three days straight. _Three days._ Without going home once. That's almost like moving in, right?

She comes straight here after work, tired and slightly disheveled, but beautiful. She never brought her own pajamas, because your clothes are scattered on the floor and always up for grabs. You've got an extra set of shoes in your closet now, and even if they look plastic and really painful they still make your stomach flip every time you see them.

You've been on the couch in silence, watching some terrible rom-com which Casey just will not stop talking through.

"Hush, sweetie." Simone's tone is quiet, but firm.

"Okay, but… just one more thing. I did really well on my English test! The one you and Adam helped me study for."

"Did you? I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. Love you."

Your breath catches in your throat. Casey freezes in her seat, rigid and staring straight ahead, peeking a furtive glimpse to the side like the meerkats she used to love.

The silence that follows is awkward and painful, at least for you. Everything is tense. No one dares to move.

And then Casey laughs, flopping backwards on the couch. "I love you too, Aunt Simone!"

You can feel Simone's shoulders ease under your arm, and her head sinks slightly into your chest. The rest of the movie passes in complete, perfect silence.

**== > Be Simone**

You have a lot of laundry to do. There's a whole pile sitting on the floor of your apartment, and some more in the back of your car. If you don't get started on it tonight, you're not going to have anything ready for work tomorrow.

Then there's the dinner you have to figure out, the appointment you have to make to get your car inspected, and you have to ask John what Casey might want for her birthday. You could ask now, you guess, but it seems kind of tactless to do so while he's inside you.

It's funny to observe. You look hot, you always do, and he seems to be enjoying himself pretty well. You shout another moan in that way that makes his fingers curl into your back, and his eyes roll into his head.

That birthday present, though. What do eleven year olds like? She's too old for dolls now, not that she ever really liked them to begin with. Maybe a craft kit? She's always been very artistic. She might like something like that.

You really don't like the way his hand is creeping up your thigh.

Now the only question is what kind of craft you want to look for. She always liked those macaroni sculptures when she was younger, so maybe something like clay? Or beads. Beads are always good.

_Simone?_

You have that shoot tomorrow, so you should make sure to exfoliate tonight. You can't have blackheads in High Definition. And you should probably lay off the salt with dinner. Extra water before bed, and tea in the morning instead of coffee.

"Simone?"

You haven't called Roxy in a while. Maybe it's time for a girls night.

"Simone!"

You can't struggle. He'll get mad if you struggle, and Mom is scary when you don't make them happy. But it hurts, and you hate it, and you can't be anywhere else.

**== > Be John**

You have no idea what just happened, and you don't think you could possibly feel like a worse person.

You knew she was blanking. Sure, she'd moan and move and lick her lips, but she wasn't really with you. Was it really so terrible of you to want her to be enjoying herself with you? You don't like being left alone, not when you feel so close to her.

She left ten minutes ago, and she won't answer your calls. Jegus, what if you hurt her? She was so _scared,_ collapsed over you and shaking into your collarbone, keeping you pinned beneath her, your dick still inside her and unable to move…

You're pulling your hair, trying her number one more time.

"Hey there baby doll, you've reached Simone Rogers. If this is a professional call…"

You could cry. In fact you really, really want to, and you're not sure why the tears won't come. Your stomach is a mess, you feel sick, the whole room is shaking and you _just don't understand._

God, why can't she just talk to you. There's nothing you can do sitting here all alone.


	9. No Light No Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4/13!

**== > John: come home**

She's on your couch again, for the first time in a week. You haven't seen her, heard from her, or spoken to her once since she fled your house in tears.

She's not exactly the loose, confident person you're used to coming home to, with her back straight and her knees tightly together, hands folded neatly into her lap. When finally manages to look at you, you wonder if she's subtly willing you to explode.

"Hey John." Your name sounds odd on her lips. "Did you miss me?"

Her bravado is cracked, obviously fake, but you play along. The look on her face last time was too much for you to deal with. You're not going to press your luck.

"Yeah, I did. Where were you?"

"I had some business to deal with." She crosses her arms tightly across her chest, refusing to meet your eyes.

"I don't think that really cuts it here. I've been trying to call you for days. Casey missed you."

She turns further away from you, tapping her nail on her elbow. You could almost place the look on her face as guilt. Almost.

"…I missed her too."

"Couldn't you have answered our calls, then?"

"No." Her voice is matter of fact, unapologetic. "I couldn't, and you can't call anymore. This is over."

You can't say you're surprised, but that doesn't stop it from hurting. Can it be called getting dumped if she was never really dating you in the first place? You sigh, trying to hide the ache in your chest as you collapse next to her on the couch. She is so, so careful not to touch you.

"…Will you at least tell me what happened?" You manage to mumble it through your hands; talking right now is much more difficult than you anticipated. She hesitates, fidgeting in her seat.

"We just can't see each other. Trust me, it's for the best."

"No it isn't. You don't get to just walk out like this, not now, you owe me an explanation."

She jerks away from you, more uncomfortable than you have ever seen her before. "I don't owe you anything. It's not like we were together to begin with."

She's cold. It stings like hell, but you know better than to believe her at this point.

"We were together, Simone." your voice is getting sharper by the second.

"We weren't, and we shouldn't be."

"Jesus fuck, fine!" She's getting under your skin whether you like it or not, and she still doesn't seem particularly fazed. "Then you go upstairs and tell Casey! You tell my daughter why the woman she's starting to think of as part of her FAMILY was never actually with her and can't see her anymore!"

"It's not like that…"

"You just said it was! We were never together. Now go tell that to Casey."

She shifts again, crossing and uncrossing her arms like she has no idea what to do with them. She won't meet your eye when you lean over to look at her.

"If you can't tell it to Casey, at least tell it to me. She loves you and she should know why you don't love her back."

"I.. you SAW why!"

"Simone, I have absolutely no idea what I saw." Her shoulder is cold under your touch, and you have the vague instinct to pull a blanket over her. You resist. "Maybe if you just tell me what's going on, we can figure this out."

She hangs her head forwards, collapsing over her knees. She might have been shaking, if you didn't know that Simone Rogers is a confident little minx who never shakes for any reason at all. She'd never break down just because some single suburban dad was pestering her.

_She was shaking that night._

But that wasn't Simone. That couldn't have been her.

She's still hiding from you, doubled over her knees and hiding her face as best she can. You don't know what else to do, so you keep your hand on her shoulder in a way you hope is comforting.

"You can talk to me, you know."

Still she says nothing, perfectly still. The silence makes your stomach twist in knots.

"Simone…" You tighten your grip on her shoulder, and realize very quickly that this was a mistake. In one quick, clean motion she's jerked free of you, and before you can say anything she's halfway to the door.

"You will absolutely thank me one day. Just don't call me, okay?" She shouts it over her shoulder.

"No!"

She glances at you, her gaze ice cold and her shoulders still heaving.

"Please…" you don't care how sad it sounds. You don't care what she will and won't tell you, you don't need to know anything she doesn't want to say. All that matters is that she doesn't make it out that door, because you know you'll never see her again.

She does pause, turning to face you with her arms crossed and shoulders hunched. You are still absolutely, 100% positive that Simone Rogers is too cool and confident to shake and what you're seeing is just a trick of the light. You have to think fast if you want her to stay.

"Simone... you're amazing, and Casey and I love you, and I really, really missed you when you left. I don't know what's going on, and I don't really care that much except for you thinking I'm evil but I swear I will fix whatever you need as long as you don't walk through that door!"

She takes a hesitant step away, and you nearly topple the couch in an attempt to get to her before she leaves.

"Simone!"

Silence again. She doesn't resist as you approach her, but tenses under your touch. If it wasn't for her breath on your neck you might think you were holding a statue.

**== > Be Simone**

He's clinging to you so tightly you can't move, and you shove him off for it. His eyes are dark, silently begging you not to walk through that door, and you can practically taste the storm brewing behind them. The panicked noise inside your head is about ready to split you in half.

"See, this is why we can't do this. You're just going to get upset."

"I'm not upset! I'm…I don't know what I am. I just wish you would sit down and talk to me." He moves to touch you again, but seems to think better of it. Strangely enough, the way he drops his arm is more comforting than any hug he's ever given.

His jaw is strong under your fingers, and he leans into your touch with a pained expression. He wants to help, but he doesn't need to. It doesn't matter how nice it feels to have him look so sad on your behalf, and the ice in your heart isn't his problem. He doesn't have to live day to day the same way you do. You don't need his help, and you sure don't need to worry about accidentally fucking up his little girl.

You place a kiss on his jaw and turn to leave. He grips your wrist again, and your heart leaps into your throat. It would be really nice if he would stop grabbing you right about now, but the bitter, teary look on his face is more terrible than his fingers on your arm.

"So why did you come around in the first place if you were just going to go?" His eyes are still dark, burning a hole through your forehead as if to see the answer written within your mind.

You don't have a good answer for him. You never really believed it would get this far? You were just having fun? Your mind shrieks that these are lies, but you try voicing them anyway. His hurt expression almost makes you want to stop.

"So, you really never believed that we were good together. Not even a little?"

"Not even a little." Your mind is protesting the string of dishonest garbage escaping your mouth, but you choke it down under a blank expression.

"…I don't think you're telling the truth."

Well who is he to call you on your bullshit, especially when he is so unequivocally, absolutely right about it? You don't even know what you're saying anymore, the anger leaps up faster than your head can push it down.

"I don't think it's your place to judge, honey."

"You've been coming around here for so long now, and finding me at shows, and picking up Casey from school and sleeping over and if you're going to tell me that you did it all because you were bored then I'm going to call you a liar!" The slight flutter in your stomach is matched only by the flutter of the breeze around your ankles. "Now stop pretending this isn't something you want and talk to me!"

Though you might be silent again, you're screaming so loudly he must be able to hear it. Every part of you wants to tell him how wrong he is, how right he is, how it doesn't fucking matter because a girl like you has no place in a home like this and something is going to go terribly, terribly wrong if you allow him to convince you otherwise.

He releases your arm and the screaming settles a little. You have to pause to take a breath.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say what you mean for once." He approaches again, hesitating only when he sees you flinch away. "I'm not going to make you stay if you don't want to, but… I don't want you to leave, and I really don't want you to leave me here in the dark. So what do you actually want?"

You have to stop to think about that for a minute. Survival has been key for so long… is there anything you've actually really wanted besides having a roof over your head, food in your stomach and control over your body?

Oh.

"I don't want you to grab me anymore. You can't physically keep me here."

He takes two steps backwards, his eyes still clouded and dark. He puts his hands up in surrender, and the screaming in your mind settles further. You take a moment to appreciate the silence before realizing that he wants something more.

"I want to go to Casey's piano recital." It's the first thing that comes into your head. A sigh escapes his lips, one that in other circumstances might have been a laugh.

"I think you can probably do that. Casey would be really happy."

He's well out of arms reach of you now, stuck somewhere between confused and hurt and angry. He's holding back, and so you step forward.

"Hey!" He's as surprised as anything when you shove him, but doesn't retaliate. He holds the ground you set for him, stumbling to regain his balance.

"…I want to stay here tonight." He snaps to attention at this, nodding quietly.

"Okay." He stands, waiting where you had pushed him without moving.

His smile is so sad when you step closer, putting yourself in his way. He really has been holding back. There is so much desperation in the way he holds your hair, kissing your temple and pulling you into his shoulder. His chest convulses with dry, empty sobs as he buries his face in your hair, and strangely enough the screaming in your head is silenced.

There is a warmth in your chest that you can't quite explain. You wonder vaguely if he can feel your heart beating through your skin.

He calms a bit before pulling away, insisting you take the bed while he claims the couch. You're not very good at resisting when he seems so determined to dote on you, though you keep trying to convince yourself it has nothing to do with the gentle heat spreading down your fingertips. He sets you up quickly, kissing you goodnight and leaving you with hesitation. You pause to reassure him that you'll be there in the morning, and his forehead meets yours in relief.

"Simone?"

"Yeah?"

"…I'm really sorry you're unhappy. And I'm sorry I scared you. And I hope you staying isn't a one time thing."

You smile and lift your lips to brush his, trailing the kiss softly along his jaw.

"Thanks."

He squeezes your hand and bids you a silent goodnight, and you snuggle down into the comforter that smells like soap and grass clippings. You might have slept soundly that night, if it weren't for the howling wind outside.


	10. Underfoot

**== >**

It's blanket fort night again, which is much easier to have at the Strider-English house than at hers. Uncle Dirk is gone for some work thing that Adam claims is really important, and Uncle Jake isn't exactly covering all the parenting bases. She doubts that he would even consider sneaking out of bed to be a bad thing, so she feels no guilt as she tiptoes around the hallway.

The door creaks loudly when she touches it, and she pauses, heart racing fast. It takes a moment for the door to open, revealing a slightly disheveled but very much awake Adam.

"Casey? You're not supposed to be up here…" He lifts his glasses to rub his eyes. The bright shine of her reading light is a bit too much to handle.

"So? What's your dad gonna do?" She smirks.

"…probably laugh and go back to bed, but... I don't know. Alright, come in." He opens the door a little wider, lifting it slightly to avoid the creak that startled her so badly.

She wastes no time darting across the room, past his laptop that is still bright with the glare of spreadsheets, and under the covers of his bed.

"Come on!" she tugs the covers over her head, and the muffled glow of her flashlight illuminates his whole room in blues and greens. With a heavy sigh and a shake of his head, he moves to join her.

The light under the covers is spooky but familiar, illuminating the both of them from below. Casey's grin looks far more menacing when lit that way, and Adam's glasses shine pure white. Casey dims the brightness slightly, putting her light upside down on the blankets to hide its glare.

"Dad says we're getting too old for this, you know. He thinks we're getting bad ideas." Adam mumbles, shifting a bit. He's not used to doing things Dirk tells him not to, but he likes having her around.

"Maybe." She tilts her head to the side, apparently deep in thought. "I don't think so, though. At least I don't want to be too old for blanket forts."

"This is hardly a fort. It's really just a blanket."

"Well, you make a better one with no warning! This is your room." She pushes his shoulder, and he pushes right back. She drags the blanket down over his face, laughing until he yanks her feet out from beneath her. The two of them struggle for a little while until the coughing begins.

"Oh crap oh crap, I'm sorry!" she scoots back as fast as she can, hands up in a gesture of surrender. After a quick excursion outside the fortress walls, Adam manages to dose himself with his inhaler. He takes a moment to climb back under the blanket with her, still quiet and a bit too pale.

"Shoot, I'm really really sorry…" She hesitates to touch him, even just to pat him on the back. He manages to calm his breathing in time, but his relaxation is forced.

"It's fine. I'm getting used to it." Somehow this doesn't brighten her mood.

She sits in silence for a while, letting him catch his breath before speaking again.

"…Does it hurt?" She asks, curious.

"Having an asthma attack?" His voice has nearly returned, and she nods. "Not really. It's scary, but it doesn't hurt. Dad says it's nature's way of making me stronger."

"Which Dad?"

"Adventure Dad. Ninja Dad hasn't been here since it started getting bad, and he usually just looks really disappointed when I have them."

"Why disappointed? That's kind of dumb."

"I don't know." He sighs, adjusting his glasses. "…but I suppose it is disappointing."

"It's _asthma._ " She sighs, as if this were obvious. "You breathe funny sometimes. That's such a dumb thing for him to be upset about."

"Do you think I shouldn't be upset about it?" He shifts uncomfortably, and she scoffs.

"No, 'cause you're the one who can't breathe and that's scary and awful. But he's fine, so what's his problem?" She scowls further. Dads shouldn't be disappointed in their kids for any reason. That's what moms are for.

His mouth tightens too much, a failed attempt at a stoic poker face. "Sometimes I think he worries. But he's got to get me ready. Soon enough I'll have to run a mile for gym class."

"He doesn't need to worry. You'll be fine."

"…Casey, if I try to run a mile I will surely die."

"No way! Well, yeah, probably, but you're smart. They'll have you doing smart people things and leave everyone else to run the mile. And then you can teach me the smart people things so when I get into high school I won't have to run either."

"I would have thought you'd love to run a mile. All you do is run everywhere."

"Yeah, but not in circles. I have to save my running for fun stuff." She lies down on the bed, picking up her reading light once again. She traces circles onto the roof of their fort with the light's glow, and he holds the blanket up further to extend her canvas. "Besides, Mom told me that it was a problem. That I wasn't supposed to be hyper all the time."

"Why would it be a problem?" He mumbles, confused.

"Cause I can't pay attention to her books, or read really fast like you do. Or keep any of my scarves clean when she makes them for me. Something like that. She says dad "ignores all my excess energy" and that I'm going to have trouble in school."

"Funny. That's how Dad always told me kids were supposed to be."

She sighs, dropping her flashlight for a second. "Which Dad, Adam?"

"Adventure Dad again." He smiles, lying down next to her on the bed. She bats the blanket away so that she might see him a little better.

"Well, maybe you can have my adventure and I can have your brains and together we'll be the coolest people to ever exist. Like a superhero."

"I don't think that's genetically possible, Casey. At the very least it would involve some highly unsafe experimentation." He's got a faraway look on his face, off considering all sorts of logistics and probabilities. She doesn't understand what he's saying sometimes, but she knows that asking him to explain will just make it even more confusing.

"…you can figure that part out. Once you're done we can run everywhere and solve mysteries and just generally be awesome." She zooms her light back and forth across the covers, and the sight of it alone is enough to make him nervous.

"Please no running…" She clicks the light off, only turning it on again when it's pressed back into the sheets.

"Okay, no running. But at least things will be easier for a while. I'll get smart like mom wants, and you can make your Dads happy. Maybe you'll even be able to play with a dog one day."

"Absolutely not!" He sits up straight, spine rigid with alarm. "Casey, every day there are a thousand people in this country that need to go to the hospital for dog bites. Thirty-eight people _died_ last year. Promise you will never even _entertain the thought_ of bringing one of those monsters here!"

"It's a _puppy._ Not a dinosaur." She can barely hold back her smile, shoulders shaking from the effort of not laughing.

"You think this is funny."

"No!" Yes, actually. She knows it's wrong, but the thought of him running in abject terror from a tiny corgi puppy is hilarious.

"You absolutely do. You're laughing at me."

"…Yeah!" She bursts out in fits of giggles, clamping her hands over her mouth to keep her voice down.

He turns his head, slightly hurt by her outburst. He knows being scared of dogs isn't normal. Not being scared of dogs, or bikes, or being on pills every day to make sure he doesn't have a panic attack or heart failure. It's not what people do, and it's certainly not what Casey does. She's still rolling on her side, trying her best to keep quiet despite her uncontrollable giggles. In the moment it takes for her to calm down, he grows bitter.

"Hey," she taps his side, the trace of a smile still on her face. "Don't look like that. You're still cool, even if you don't want to play with dogs."

"You're just saying that because you feel guilty." Her amusement still stings. He worries often enough that she keeps him around as a joke without her actually laughing at him.

"Nope. You know all the fun science that they don't teach you in class, and you still played with me even when you were scared to, and you don't get mad when I talk too much. And I like hanging out with you enough to keep building blanket forts—"

"This still isn't a fort."

"—in the middle of the night. And come on, it was kind of funny…"

He sighs. "Sure, I suppose. My Dads seem to find it hilarious."

Her grin wrinkles her nose a bit. "See? And they love you, so it's fine."

"You can love someone and still be horrible." He won't meet her eyes.

She frowns. "Now who's being mean? I'm not horrible."

"You are an absolute terror."

"I'm adorable."

"You're a chatterbox."

"I'm excitable is all!"

"You cut off all my hair once."

"I was six!" She shouts, indignant. "And at least I'm not scared of puppies."

He pauses, still slightly hurt. "Casey, you can be extremely unpleasant sometimes."

"I know." She shifts a little and forces a smile, and he wonders if he's gone too far. "But you still like me, right?"

"I—"

"Kids!" A third voice, lower and tinted with sleep, echoes from outside the blanket. "We're well into tomorrow morning and I can't get a _lick_ of sleep past your yammering!"

The blankets are pulled back suddenly by one sleep-deprived and very disgruntled Jake English.

"Casey," he starts, "Your father was on-the-nose specific about not letting you sneak out of bed. If he knew about this he would have my hide. Back to the couch with you."

She sighs, still hurting, and exits the room with her shoulders slumped. He watches her go, his stomach dropping and his chest sore in a strange new way. He can't quite place the feeling, but it's not the stabbing pain like he's used to.

She moves to her lonely place in the living room, curling back up on their sofa and wishing she hadn't started laughing in the first place. Or that she was good at keeping quiet. Maybe both.

A door closes down the hallway, and footsteps sound out behind her. She closes her eyes, feigning sleep just in case Jake has come to check on her again. The hand shaking her shoulder is as startling as anything, and she very nearly shrugs it away before he speaks.

"Of course I like you, Casey." Adam says, her reading light in hand. "You're my best friend."

He sets it down on the table next to her, not quite sure of what to do next. Casey blinks up at him, dumbfounded. She might be used to sneaking around, but Adam disobeying his father is practically unheard of.

She doesn't have much of a chance to act before he's disappeared back into his own room, his door clicking shut with a quiet precision. If she still had her audience she might have started drawing with her flashlight once again, but it's no fun to try on her own. So instead she waits, counting down the minutes until the morning and she can find some way to say "thank you."


	11. The Bad Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 110% chance of fucking with a chance of light rain.

 

**== > Be Simone**

Okay, this is a little nicer than you thought. Casey's gone for the night and you've had a lot of time to build expectations, but it's only just now that your doubts are starting to ease.

You really can't believe you agreed to try this again, not after last time, but here you are, bare backed with his breath on your neck and your hands against the wall. He's behind you, running a hand down your skin, smooth along your thigh, and when he breathes into your ear it's all you can do to contain a smirk.

Your balance isn't going to last long like this, you know. He tries to scoot you to the bed, but you can't even turn around while he does. You can't risk it. It's not going to happen. You're not going to look, you're not going to look, you're not going to look…

"Hey there hummin'bird. Move a little to the left." He's got the most terrible southern drawl you think you've ever heard, and you sneak just the tiniest backwards glance.

Nope. The wife beater is too much. You're done.

You collapse laughing on the bed, and he falls next to you. Seeing him straight on is almost more than you can handle. Between the undersized wife beater, the slicked-back hair, and the ridiculous borderline-pubescent stubble you think he might be the saddest Nic Cage impersonator in existence. You're just glad he couldn't find a mullet wig at the last minute.

"Come on, Simone! You promised you would at least try to play along…" He's got his best serious face on, but his eye is twitching enough for you to know that the contacts are bothering him and holy Sufferer's obscenity gargling protein chute, you just can't stop laughing.

"John, no. You have to put that away." You manage to gasp it out between laughs, and you're starting to worry that you might puke.

"Put what away?"

"That." You wave your hand in gesture to his entire person. "I just can't do it."

"Can't as in won't enjoy it, or can't as in can't deal with my incredibly sexy roleplaying scenario that will leave you weak-kneed for the rest of forever?"

"Can't as in what are you even doing? This is ridiculous!"

"Simone." He is trying so, so hard to keep the strain out of his face, but you're sure that contact is one poorly timed blink away from falling out. "You promised me you would let me try something, and see if it made things better for you. If it doesn't, we can stop, but these are the conditions."

You can't look at him any longer without laughing, and you can't laugh without getting nauseous, so you do the only thing you can think of. His lips are soft on yours, and even with his patchy stubble on your cheek you can't help but find this slightly pleasant.

His hand finds the small of your back, pulling you ever so slightly closer while he smiles into the kiss. You ignore the slip of sweat, the bandage on his arm, the smell of motor oil on his neck…

Um.

"Honey, why do you smell like a mechanic?"

"Mmm… just for you, hummin'bird." He rolls on top of you, hand playing gently against the waistband of your panties, and you nudge away some of the hair that's tickling at your nose.

"No, really. Where did you get motor oil? You don't _have_ any."

You can feel him tense under your fingers for just one second before continuing his work on your neck. In silence.

"John. Did you go out and buy motor oil just to use for this?"

"…Maybe."

"And then rub it on yourself like cologne?"

"Don't judge me, Simone. I am a veteran and a convict with a heart of gold. You have to cut me a break."

Fifty points for commitment and another negative five hundred for the laundry he is going to have to do after this. Both of you are going to smell like an auto shop before the night is out. Of course, his fingers are sneaking past the waist of your panties and that's making it a little harder to care.

Well, except for one thing. "You did wash your hands afterward, right?"

He rolls his eyes, and sure enough, there goes the contact. "Ouch! Goddamn… yes, I washed my hands, I'm not going to get you sick…" He fishes the other one out in frustration, and you have his glasses at the ready. "I thought it might be manly and romantic."

Oh this sweet, stupid man-child that you have somehow found yourself caring for.

"It sort of is, I guess? I just like to check. Now come on," your tongue finds your lower lip, teasing it slightly, "don't you want to touch my pussy?"

He frowns. "No porn talk either. Not allowed."

You raise an eyebrow at him as he steadies his hand in place. Funny. You never thought you would ask him to move faster and mean it.

He covers his hand with yours, taking your fingers and gently guiding them over his own. "Why don't you show me what you like? What you actually like, not the camera stuff with the crazy splits and everything."

His breath is warm and even against your neck, his thumb tracing circles over your stomach while you run your fingers over his. They're long and soft, definite piano influence, and you think… you think you might be able to make some wonderful things happen with them.

His middle and ring finger bend easily under your touch, moving smoothly under your elastic and finding some resistance when they reach your lips. It takes a moment to ease him around your clit, but a few quick pulses of pressure and moving becomes slick and effortless. You weren't wrong; his fingers are powerful, but controlled enough to bend just right to your will.

His breath is quicker in your ear now, chest tense, lips so close to your neck you're sure he must be able to taste your heartbeat. You find he's learning quickly, moving just right without your touch to guide him. His cheek meets your jaw as you gasp and twist your hips, and… shit, you're laughing again.

"You feel like a Brillo pad, honey."

"Stubble is sexy, Simone. Come on, it can't be that bad."

"It's pretty bad." He rubs his scratchy chin across your neck, fingers never stopping their motion, and somehow the sensory overload is so wonderfully horrible that you end up a writhing, hysterical mess.

He pulls away, the damn tease, and you find yourself rolling on top of him. God, one more look at that hair is all it takes to send you spiraling into another fit of giggles. You can feel him hard between your legs with every laugh, but it barely even matters for the moment.

"No, honey, look, I tried, I can't do this, I will literally die of suffocation."

"But Hummingbird, does that mean you're giving up on me?" There's something heartbreaking layering his disappointment, but you just need him to wait you out for a minute.

"It means this is going a little differently."

Before he has the time to object, you're yanking that awful wife beater over his head and pulling it over your own. The smell of motor oil is overwhelming, and you wonder for a second if he dunked the entire shirt in it before putting it on.

The transformation doesn't take too much longer. You brush your bangs out of your eyes as best you can, smearing your makeup on the way down. It takes you a couple of more seconds to hijack his bandage and two tries to get the accent just right.

"Hey there hummin'bird." You manage your best impression of a crooked smile, ruffling his hair as you go.

He stares at you in complete silence, jaw hanging open and eyes wide. It takes you a couple of seconds to register that something is pressing a little harder between your legs.

"Oh my god, this is totally doing it for you!"

"No! Shut up! Okay, maybe a little, but still shut up!"

"I am not going to shut up, hummin'bird." Your drawl gets better with practice, you've noticed, and his eyes roll back slightly when you grind your hips into his. "I am going to make you understand how much I missed you while I was in prison."

He practically _quivers_ under your touch, and you lower your voice to the barest whisper. "How would you like to steal my Declaration of Independence?"

It doesn't take him long to fumble with his belt, rip off his jeans, and have you pressed to his chest in a rough, desperate kiss. His stubble still scratches and he still reeks like a busted car, but the way he strokes your back through the thin fabric puts your mind at ease.

He's inside you, and you wonder whether or not you should have checked your account balance before you bought that new dress yesterday. You're getting another paycheck tomorrow, though, so it shouldn't be an-

He moves, and you hear him whimper in your ear. "Can you call me hummingbird again?"

You have to snort into his shoulder, your stomach sick and aching from the stress of laughter and wow, that feels pretty good.

He moves again, and money and numbers and fear all leave your mind. His mouth is gentle on your neck, hips rolling with you pulled tight into his lap, mouth permanently plastered in a goofy grin, eyes glazed and stupidly sentimental.

It takes you a couple more giggle fits before you can speak again. "Seven years is a long time without you, hummin'bird."

He clings to you a little bit tighter, groaning your name in the most absurd voice you might have ever heard. Something that he's hitting down there feels like fireworks and sunshine, you can feel his heart beating faster under your fingertips…

And then there's that familiar shuddering feeling, where your toes curl and your stomach is too tight to breathe, but it's not the same one you're used to. It takes so much _energy_ , moving all the way down to your fingers and through your neck until your breath hitches into one simple, quiet gasp.

"John…"

His pace picks up and all of a sudden you feel so much you don't know if you can even handle it. Everything is on fire, everything is beautiful, you're laughing so loud in his ear and his nails rake down your back, his stubble scratching your neck, his voice getting louder with every failed attempt to hold it back...

He's a puddle of mush when he's done, and weirdly enough so are you. Your face hurts from smiling and your stomach is sore from laughter, and you find yourself wondering why all of those aches and pains feel so goddamn amazing. You've sure as hell had sex before, and a lot, a _lot,_ of orgasms, but nothing like that. You kind of wish you had been present for a couple more of them, because apparently they can feel fucking _fantastic._

John turns to his side, lazy and sprawled out, that stupid, sentimental look marred with slight concern.

"Are you okay?"

You run another hand through the scruff on his jaw, savoring the steel wool scratch before he cuts it off in the bathroom sink.

"Yeah."

"Really? And you were…"

"Enjoying myself, yes. Go to sleep, honey."

His grin spreads just a little bit wider, but you can see his blinking starting to slow down, chest rising and falling with a gentle rhythm.

"I'm glad." He murmurs into your shoulder. He's barely got his glasses off before he starts fading, and you're still trying to cling to that last tingle in your toes.

"Me too." You don't know if he was awake to hear it, but that's okay. It was more important for you to admit it to yourself. Something in you still feels the warm glow, and all you want to do for a while is embrace it.


	12. Pre-Teen Violence

 

**== > Be Simone**

Casey's crying. Not the cute, sniffling childlike cry, but the screaming, frustrated tears of a girl who doesn't understand her situation. You can feel John's arm tensing around you, his shoulder suddenly more painful than comfortable, and he jerks away too quickly while he sits up. The door slams behind her, rattling the frame while her dad pulls his arm from around your shoulders.

"Casey, what's—what happened?!"

She growls, frozen, and John is at her side in seconds. He's hunched over her protectively, taking her backpack off her shoulders to set it on the ground near the door. It's only when he moves away slightly that you can see the blood of her split lip.

"Sweetie, oh my god…" She flinches away from both of you, dodging between both of you to get to her room. She slams her door behind her, leaving you to stare blankly at her panicking father.

Nothing like this has ever happened before, and you definitely have no idea what to do about it. Even John seems to be at a loss. After a moment's uncertainty he approaches the door, knocking twice and waiting for an answer that won't come.

"Case… can you tell me what's going on?"

There's silence beyond her door, save for the increasing sniffling that she's trying and failing to cover up. You hover behind John in doubt.

"At least come out so we can get you some ice." He tries, but there's silence again.

He knocks again, louder. "You'll feel better, you know."

"JUST GO AWAY!" She shrieks it through her sniffles, and the noise sets your stomach on edge.

"Casey Serket Egbert, you quiet down and realize that _I am trying to help you_. Let me in right now." You're amazed that he can sound so calm and stern at the same time, and even more amazed when a pouting, puffy-eyed Casey opens the door just wide enough to let him inside. For the first time in a long time, you feel completely out of place here and more than a little useless.

He takes her chin in his hand, turning her face gently to examine the damage.

"Jeez, Caseadoodle…" She jerks her face away, bringing up a pillow to hide as much of the bruising as possible. "You're kind of a mess. You're not dizzy, are you?"

"I'm not dizzy and I'm not a mess! They got it way worse than me." She sulks, clinging to the pillow in some desperate attempt to hide. Part of you is ready to hold her and smooth her hair, and part of you is ready to run home and wait for this to be over.

John stiffens slightly. "We're going downstairs to get some ice and then you're going to explain to me exactly what the heck is going on."

"Exactly what the _hell_ is going on." Casey mumbles vaguely before cowering under her Dad's glare.

You follow aimlessly as John leads Casey to the kitchen, not sure if you should be leaving, or trying to be comforting, or just keeping silent and following them around. John presses a bag of frozen veggies to her forehead, and you watch her wince and then relax under the cold pressure. It only takes him a minute to clean up her lip, and the silence that follows is uncomfortable.

"Casey." John's got that stern tone once again, and with a heavy pout Casey finally begins to speak.

"It wasn't my fault! Some jerk stole Adam's inhaler and he really, really needed it. I set him straight. His friends didn't like it, so I hit them and they hit me back and then I came home. And now we're here and you're mad at me." She scowls, flinching as the torn skin of her lip stretches uncomfortably.

John hesitates, staring at her as if she was a puzzle to be solved. You don't know if you want him to ground her or tell her how proud he is of her bravery.

"Listen," He begins carefully, "I know you wanted to help, but fighting isn't going to make anything better."

"Adam got his inhaler back." She mumbles, glaring at the floor.

"Maybe he did, and you're going to have a black eye to show for it. Next time let a teacher take care of it, okay?"

She makes a face, but doesn't bother fighting anymore. She's tired and in pain, and no matter how flat her expression might be, when she closes her eyes and lets him adjust the cold pressure you're positive that she's happy to have him there.

"…Dad, why do people suck so badly?"

He chuckles lowly to himself, removing the bag to get a better look at her. "Language, Case. And most of them don't. You just found some real gems today."

"No, they all do. Adam was really sick and no one did anything at all."

He sighs, dabbing some Neosporin onto her lip. "I'll call your school and try to figure out what happened, but I promise there are a lot of people who would have helped if they had seen. Not everyone is like that."

She frowns, her mouth tightening into a thin line. She thinks very, very hard before speaking once again.

"Aunt Simone, are you a whore?" Your stomach flips into your throat; more than anything you want to not be here right now.

"Casey! Why would you even—"

"They said so! Right before I hit him, the big one said that the freak with a whore mom _would_ hang out with the freak with the busted heart. He kept saying he saw you naked on TV and that you would totally fuck him if he asked…"

"Language! Listen to me, your aunt isn't a whore, and I never want to hear you say that again, okay?" John's stern voice does nothing to calm your nerves.

"But they said—"

"I don't care what they said. They're just a couple of bratty kids, and if what they said about you and Adam isn't true then what they say about your aunt isn't true either. Now stay here while I get us some aspirin…"

John rises slowly, waiting for someone to take over holding the cold bag while he goes in search of painkillers. You realize a little too late that he's looking to you, and you have to take over as the parent while he's gone.

You never thought you would get nervous about holding a pack of frozen veggies, but as you take it from his hand you find your heartbeat speeding up. Alright. Just hold it still, same amount of pressure as John had, try to ignore the fact that Casey just got beaten up and it's at least partially your fault…

"…Are you really naked on TV, though?" Casey mumbles it quietly, looking nervously at the door as if her dad might overhear. Your stomach is clenched so tight that you're not sure how you can breathe, and for a moment you consider lying and walking out as soon as John gets back.

You know she's going to find out eventually, though.

"Yeah, sweetie. It's a way to pay the bills."

She pauses to think about this for a while. "…And do you have sex with people for money?"

You want to be sick. "Yes."

"And would you fuck that kid if he asked?"

"Sweetie, there's not enough money in the world for me to touch him with my left pinky." The corner of her mouth twitches slightly, and you're a little bit proud to be the first one to make her smile.

"Okay." She shrugs, finally relaxing her shoulders just a bit.

…Wait a second.

"'Okay?'"

"Yeah. I mean, I guess it's kind of gross, but sex without money is pretty gross too and people really like to do that for some reason?"

You laugh; she's not entirely wrong. She doesn't seem to notice.

"Maybe there's just something about it I'm not getting yet? I don't know. But I mean, Adam _is_ kind of a freak and he's still really cool. So you're probably still awesome even if you're naked on TV. Ouch!" She flinches; you've pressed down a little too hard with her now-thawing cold pack.

You wish you could hug her right now, but she's hurt and the last thing you want to do is hurt her more. She grins at you through the pain, trying to force you to believe that she's okay, and you don't think you've ever been more relieved to see John approach with aspirin and a glass of water.

"Alright, take these, I've just got to call your mom and let her know…" Casey manages to choke down an adult-sized dose of painkillers while John fumbles with his phone. You sit there next to both of them, the now thawing bag of veggies still in hand.

Casey seems to have forgotten all about your confession in light of how ugly her black eye is going to be, and John is too busy with Rose to pay attention, but you know this is going to come back to haunt you. They say they love you and they want you there, but sometimes people are stupid about the things they want. Who would ever want Casey to come home bruised and bloody for the sake of someone like you?


	13. The Good Times Are Killing Me

 

**== > Be Adam**

It is kind of pretty; you can acknowledge that much. The flowers don't make you as sniffly as they used to, and Jade looks really nice in white. She kisses Dave slowly on the lips and everybody claps around you, so you start clapping too.

You never really understood the purpose of a vow renewal. Jade and Dave had been married for years now, they don't really need to prove it to anyone, but they still want to have one every year. Your Dad said Dave was sucking up after being a "taint-licking asshole" and refused to attend, but Dad wants to sit with you and watch his not-Grandma get not-married. He claps and cheers louder than anyone else.

The two of them run back through the chairs, quickly snatching up their seats at the tables set up behind them. Rose, John and Casey follow, Rose with a somewhat forced smile and Casey with a teary-eyed grin. Casey grabs you, sniffling, and she drags you to a seat with your name on it.

Your dad settles in next to you, laugh still booming far above anyone else's, and you're a little worried that he might break the glass he's banging on if he hits it any harder.

"A toast to grandma and her gent, and fifty more wonderful years!" For such a small, private ceremony, the cheer that follows is terribly loud. Jade smothers Dave in a completely overbearing kiss, and he's forced to lift his shades to comply. Despite the discomfort of it all they pull away flushed and bright eyed with wide, toothy smiles.

They look quite happy. You might almost be envious, and you doubt you're the only one.

You vaguely know the order of these things, and after the ceremony comes the food and the dancing. Sure enough, the minutes pass and shoes start piling against the walls. Roxy drags an unwilling Jane out onto the floor, kicking off her heels while Jane blushes a bright, inebriated red. Roxy starts and Jane follows, kicking up the music and dragging your Dad out into what appears to be a very uncomfortable sandwich.

You find yourself wishing that Dad came, too. It doesn't matter what he might say about Dave and his history, at least he would keep you company along the sidelines. You like watching the dancing and cheering and people interacting, but you've never really felt as if you were meant to be a part of it.

There are a few stragglers still waiting by the edge of the tables: you spot Kanaya and Rose in a quiet argument across the room, and, much to your surprise, Miss Rogers not far to your left.

"Miss?" She turns to look at you.

"Sweetie, you know you can call me Simone if you want." Her smile is a little off, but you can't place why.

"Um… well…"

"Here, sit down. I could use the company." Simone pulls out the seat next to her, and you take it gratefully. She looks out over the dance floor, nodding quickly to Jade as she raises her glass.

"They look cute together, don't they? The 'newlyweds.'" She taps her fork idly, her odd smile never fading.

"Yes. They seem very happy." Dave swoops in for another kiss as Jade's arms close around his shoulders. You watch them for another moment in silence, with Miss Rogers idly picking at her food. Something doesn't feel quite right.

"Don't you want to dance with John?"

"Maybe later, sweetie. I'm not feeling very well."

"I'm sorry… are you sick?" You just got over the flu, and the thought of catching something else is making you nervous. On the other hand, losing her company makes you a little nervous too.

"I might be." Her smirk falters a bit more. "I don't think it's contagious, though. Don't worry."

"So it's okay if I…?" You brought a rather large plate of food with you, and to be perfectly honest you're starving.

"Of course. Help yourself." She takes a bite, as if to prove her point.

You don't need to be told twice, as the food is delicious and parties are a lot more interesting on a full stomach. It only takes you a few minutes to take down nearly your entire plate.

"Easy, sweetie, don't hurt yourself." Simone smiles at you over her water glass. "Besides, don't you want to dance later?"

It takes you a moment to swallow the bite you were chewing. "I don't dance."

"No?"

"Nope. I'm too cool for that, Dad says…" You don't know if he would say that, really, but making a fool of yourself on a dance floor sounds horrifying. "And I'd rather be eating than be dancing."

She laughs. "I feel you, sweetie. I'm starving."

"I thought you were sick?"

"I guess I'm both" She smiles, and you couldn't be any more confused. Rose sneaks some uncomfortable eye contact with Simone, and you catch a glimpse of Dave and Jade in the corner. They're still so wrapped up in each other, sharing loving looks while tripping over their own feet.

"Do you think you'll want to marry Uncle John?" You might like going to another party like this. It would be even better if you could get your dad to come too.

She chokes on her bite. "Do I what!?"

"I'm sorry, was that rude to ask?"

"No, I just... wow, that caught me a little off guard."

"You don't have to answer. I only thought… since you're always together and kissing now. You two seem really happy, too."

You catch her looking onto the dance floor, out towards the middle where John and Casey are caught up in an energetic swing. He spins her around, her skirt trailing behind her in a wide circle. The look on Simone's face reminds you a little of Jade.

"We are. Tell you what, sweetie; I'll answer when you do. Let me know when there's someone you want to marry and I'll tell you all about my intentions with your Uncle."

"You might have to wait a while, then. I don't really know about any of that." Casey looks cute tonight, with her bruises all but faded and the light shining off her braces.

Simone raises an eyebrow, but doesn't manage to get a word in before Casey spots you. Oh no oh no oh no, she and John are getting closer, she's got a bounce in her step, John's got his eye on Simone, there is absolutely no way you are going on that floor right now and you hope that Simone isn't going to leave you to go with them…

"Adam, you have to come dance!" Casey is loud in your ear and you think you might have a panic attack.

"I really don't. In fact, I really can't." John and Simone are chatting away in the background, hands linked over the back of her chair. "I don't think it would end well for anyone."

"Uh huh…"

"I'm sorry. I'm sure my Dad would love to dance with you."

"I'm not asking your Dad, I'm asking you, and you're not getting out of this just because you're scared."

She knows you a little too well. "No, I'm not scared at all. I'm just not supposed to dance."

"You are totally scared, and there's nothing to be scared of. What if it's slow, so you don't get sick?"

"I don't think you're even capable of moving slowly."

She crosses her arms, smirking. "I don't think you're even capable of dancing."

"Of course I am." You are a liar. "I just shouldn't, and I don't want to."

"Please? Please please please just give it a chance?"

You glimpse behind at Simone, but she seems to want to dance about as much as you do. You don't really want to interrupt her to ask for backup, but you really, really don't want to make a fool of yourself in front of all these people. Casey just looks so freaking eager…

"Fine, Case." You take her hand, letting her pull you out of your chair. "One dance, and afterwards I get to sit back down."

You're not sure she's listening, dragging you aggressively onto the center of the floor before starting to move her feet to the music. You take her hands, trying to pretend you have any idea what you're doing, but she's already clicking her tongue.

"That's not how you do it! Here, you have to go like this…" She takes your arms, fastening them around her waist while she loops hers up over your shoulder. Her hands rest gently at the nape of your neck, and your heart is beating so quickly it's starting to hurt.

"See? It's not that hard." She begins swaying her hips, taking your hands with her. "Dad taught me ages ago. I promise to go really really slow."

"I don't know. I don't think this is working." Your chest is aching more by the minute, and it has nothing to do with the speed you're moving at.

"Really? We're hardly moving. I guess we could go closer to the window?"

She presses into you slightly in an attempt to guide you out of the crowd, and it's getting much harder to breathe.

"This isn't… I don't feel very well, I need to find my inhaler…" You're starting to get dizzy, and dizzy always means fear.

"Adam?" She pulls you with a hand against your neck. Her breath tickles your shoulder for a moment and you think you might pass out.

"Get off!" You shove her away quickly, running for your jacket and therefore your inhaler. It only takes a moment for your lungs to clear after dosing, and the lack of contact is calming your heart.

Ugh. She should know better than to push you that far, even though nothing quite like that has ever happened to you before. You really weren't moving that fast. You shouldn't have gotten sick; it doesn't make any sense.

You take a seat next to John, who takes a moment to acknowledge your presence.

"Hey, kiddo. You okay?"

You nod lightly, breathing deep. "Yeah. I think I'm going to ask Dad to go home soon, though."

"I'm sorry. It's been a bit of a strange night, hasn't it?" His smile is forced, and it takes you a moment to realize that he is sitting alone.

"Where's Miss Rogers?"

He turns to his empty plate. "She said she needed some air."

"Oh." You try to hide your disappointment, but it seems like John is too caught up in his stress to notice.

"She's been gone for a while... did she say anything to you earlier? She was okay this morning, but she didn't really want to talk to me much and ended up going out for breakfast. Alone. And she said she felt really sick last night after dinner…" He's still rambling, but unfortunately you can't quite focus on his words.

Over by the window Casey is still watching you. She stands alone while your Dad and Roxy circle nearby, and when she meets your eyes she's quick to leave the room.

"…she got here late too, but I think that was because she had to work. I don't know. I wish she would just tell me things sometimes, but I guess nothing can ever be that simple."

"No." You take a sip of water, checking the window where Casey stood moments ago. "It really doesn't seem that way."

John sighs, propping his chin up with his hand, and you wish you could stop the ache in your chest. You'll apologize to her as soon as you figure out what exactly just happened.


	14. The Bends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vomiting ahoy, my dears.

**== > Simone: panic**

It's her sixth day in a row shaking and crying, crying and puking, calling in sick to work and trying her best to avoid the test now resting in her hands. Poor, sweet, oblivious John could never quite piece it together, rubbing her back with concern and telling her that her virus should pass in a couple of days time. He offered to take her to the doctor after her third canceled photoshoot, but that's not a place she wanted to go.

No, she has other things to worry about. Right at this moment she has to worry about staying upright long enough to check the test. She knows two minutes have passed. All she has to do is look down.

Her neck is frozen, unable to choke down the acid or bend to check the test, so she stares. Straight ahead of her is a shower curtain full of bright polka dots and little fish. Probably something Casey picked out for him, since John cares very little about interior design. It doesn't match the rest of the bathroom in the slightest and lets the water through if you don't pull it shut the right way, but if it made his daughter happy, John wouldn't care.

It's been much, much longer than two minutes, but there's no reason for her to look down anyway. It's not possible. She's in the _sex industry_ , she's so careful, if she hasn't gotten pregnant by now she's not going to. She doubts that she can at this point. So what if she uses condoms with all her co-stars and she doesn't with John? That doesn't mean anything. There's still virtually zero chance with how often she goes for screenings…

A second wave of nausea hits her when she realizes. She has co-stars. _It might not even be his._

She closes her eyes to clear her head; there's no way in hell it's anyone's at all. It's not possible. It can't happen _now_ , not when things are finally going well for once. She would lose her job, she would get huge and bloated, she would be tied to John forever. What if he gets old or angry or cruel? What if he expects her to start changing diapers or cleaning up baby puke? Oh god, he would want her to be a role model. She doesn't know how to do that. She hardly knows what being a good role model means.

Her arms are so tense she worries they might snap were she to move them. She needs to check, or put the test down and walk away. One or the other. She can't stand here forever waiting for some miracle to take away all her anxiety.

With shaking hands, she lifts the plastic stick to eye level. Her eyes squeeze shut, allowing familiar darkness to calm her mind before she finally looks.

The small plastic stick clatters to the ground, and she falls right next to it.

**== > John: smile**

He's grinning. "I'm gonna ask her as soon as she's feeling better."

"Whoa whoa whoa, I'm sorry, are we in some fucked up alternate universe here? Since when are you the one making completely idiotic decisions?" Dave works his fingers through his hair, trying his hardest to conceal his alarm. "You're the sane one. The parent and all that shit. How do you think Casey's gonna deal with having a new mom all of a sudden?"

"I asked Casey already. She loves her Aunt Simone, and we already know that she's not really going to be _mom._ Rose is mom, always." John sighs, chin braced in his palm, his other hand toying with the engagement ring splayed out on the table. "Do you think she'll like it?"

"I think it's more than you can afford and more than she deserves." Dave sips at his soda, trying his best to ignore Jade's side eye.

"Dave, stop it, you're being rude. John, it's really, really pretty. I think she's going to love it." Jade smiles, her pride shining bright and clear. She's wanted happiness for her brother for so long, and seeing him smile like this makes her stomach flip in excitement.

Dave isn't buying in. "Is she even officially your girlfriend yet?"

"Well, no…" John hesitates, "I mean, we haven't really talked about it. But she's been staying with us for the past four months without going home once, and she picks Casey up from school all the time."

"So you want to ask this random girl who sort of lives in your house to be your wife and the guardian of your kid. Yeah, I have no idea what could go wrong here." Dave pushes his shades further up on his nose. "Never mind the fact that she's practically a hooker…"

"Dave!" John is outraged, too, but Jade's shout is louder. "It doesn't _matter_ if she's an actress or a garbage truck driver or a _recovering drug addict._ John, do you love her?"

He doesn't even have to hesitate, goofy smile lifting his glasses high on his cheeks. "Yes."

"Is she good to you and Casey?"

His smile widens. "Yes."

Jade claps her hands together, pleased. "Then you should ask her, and I really, really hope she says yes."

John practically lunges across the table to hug his sister, and she laughs with equal enthusiasm. They stay like that for a while, ring between them, John near tears with giddiness at the prospect of maybe, just maybe, having a family with the girl he loves. He buries his face in Jade's hair, laughing to himself while she squeaks about how cute Casey would be as a flower girl. He idly wonders whether Rose and he could put aside their history long enough to have her attend.

Dave eyes them with disdain, planting his soda back on the table with a sigh. "You're a fucking dipshit."

**== > Simone: confess**

She never thought parallel lines would ever be so crushing, but there they are. Four hours and three more tests later, and all of them have those awful parallel lines. Neat and pink and orderly, and John is going to be home any minute. She can't worm her way out of this one.

At least there is a ninety-five percent chance the baby is his. Well, perhaps ninety percent. Eighty-five percent, but that has to be the worst of it. She is so relieved that Casey is doing her homework at the Strider-English house tonight, because explaining this to more than one person is not something she can deal with.

The door creaks, revealing a slightly tipsy and overly giddy John Egbert stumbling through the doorway. He waves goodbye to his sister and brother-in-law, calling out to the car before crushing her in a bone-breaking hug.

"Hi Simone!" He plants a sloppy kiss on her cheek and she can't help but smile. "I'm really glad you're here. Are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah." It's not entirely a lie. She hasn't vomited since this morning.

"Great!" His smile might split his head clean in two. "I was thinking we could go for dinner tomorrow?"

"I thought I was set to pick up Casey after school?"

He shakes his head, dopey smile firmly in place. "Jade said she could do it. I haven't gotten nearly enough time with you lately and I've got something I wanted to talk to you about."

Her heart drops into her stomach, nausea rising once again. "Something important?"

"You could say that." He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, the look on his face quite unfamiliar to you.

"Right… I've got something to tell you too, honey."

"Hmm?" He's kissing up the side of her face, tickling her with his breath as he pulls her close. He's too happy now, getting too far into familiarity for her to handle. She needs to keep a clear head, and she can't do that when he's touching her so gently.

She pulls away from him, taking his hands from her waist and holding them in her own. Still, she can't find her voice.

"Hey." He touches her forehead with his. "You know you can tell me whatever you need to."

She really doesn't know that, but she takes a deep breath anyway. If this is where the other shoe drops, she wants to be ready.

"John, I'm pregnant."

"What…?" His grin fades for a moment, leaving him stupefied. She finds herself missing that sentimental smile.

"I'm pregnant. I don't know what happened, maybe I was slipping too much on taking my pills at the right time, but… shit…" It's a struggle to keep herself controlled, but she can do it. Only the slightest shaking of her fingertips would give away her fear.

If he notices, he says nothing. His stare is blank and confused, jaw slack and eyes wide. She braces herself, prepared for the questioning, the anger, the "how could you be so careless? Do you even know if it's mine?"

But of course the rational side of her brain had forgotten that this is John Egbert, and doubting him is pretty fucking stupid. John wraps his arms around her in a bright, sturdy, potentially lethal hug.

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god Simone, Casey's going to have a little brother or sister!" His arms crush around her shoulders, lifting her off the ground. He realizes his mistake too late, setting her down quickly and releasing his death-grip around her middle. "Shoot! I'm sorry, um… oh my _god_!" He's laughing so loud and clear it echoes, moving his hands from her shoulders to her waist to her belly to her hair, so excited he has no idea where to even begin.

Despite her misgivings, despite the fact that her fear is far from gone, for a few short minutes she can let go and feel that excitement with him. She pulls him down into a long kiss, letting him laugh clumsily into her mouth while she grasps at the back of his shirt.

"Marry me." He murmurs it into her lips.

She jerks away, looking more like he had just tazed her than proposed. "You're just saying that because I'm pregnant."

He shakes his head, fumbling through his pocket for a small diamond ring. "I know it's not really fancy, I promise to get you a bigger one— shit, I'm supposed to be on one knee!"

He moves down to kneel, taking her hand in his with misty eyes. "Simone Rogers. Okay, this isn't quite as romantic as I had planned, but I promise that if you say yes I will make that up to you every day of your life, every time that we're together. I love you. Will you marry me?"

She stares at him, dumbfounded. This _does not happen_ to girls like her.

He takes her hand in his, slipping the ring on her finger with dexterous ease. This shouldn't be happening. This is too easy. He's falling all over her, and the giddiness rising in her stomach is going to consume her if she doesn't get it under control. She's going to say something horrifically stupid if she doesn't get it under control.

"…Yes."

Her kiss is fierce and desperate, biting into him to make sure this is happening, this is real, that there is actually enough love for her in this family that she might find a place here.

"Hang on, I have to call Casey and let her know." John starts digging through his pockets, but Simone stops him.

"Can we wait? I...I guess I just don't want to jinx anything."

Nothing is getting through to him, past his delirious happiness. "Yeah, of course! Just…" Words fail him, but his smile says everything as he carries her up the stairs. Her hand finds his cheek, running a gentle thumb across his jaw before he kisses away any doubts she might have.

**== > John: embrace**

He does what she asks, keeping silent on their news even as he makes excuses to have Casey spend the night on the Strider-English couch. He doesn't trust himself to keep a secret right now.

She looks beautiful under the dim light, her makeup long gone and her botox worn away by time. She looks just like a girl, like herself, trusting him enough to let him see past the surgical enhancements and makeup-coated mask. A smear of lipstick still clings just below her lower lip, and he wipes it away with a gentle thumb. She smiles wide, nipping gently at the offending digit.

"I have to ask the question, you know." He says it quietly, as if a noise too loud might frighten her away once more.

"You know, honey, you might have used up your reserve of important questions for the day." Her smile closes to become a smirk, and his hand moves to search the bare skin of her waist. It's familiar by now and sticky with sweat, but he doubts he will ever tire of the feel of it.

"One more. Last one, I promise."

She sighs theatrically, her smile spreading wide once again. "Go for it."

"Are you my girlfriend now?" Her gut reaction is to laugh, and she covers her mouth to hide the volume.

"What? Come on, you've never said it before…"

She attempts to choke back the rest of her laughter, ending in an uncharacteristically ungainly snort. "I think we're a little past that now."

"Nope. I need to hear you say it."

She rolls her eyes, kissing his nose briefly. "I'm your girlfriend. And your fiancée. And I love you, John Egbert."

His heart skips a beat, pulling her close to his chest so that she might hear it. She nestles in, close as she can, letting herself be surrounded by him the same way that he so often buries himself in her. Sleep begins to tug at the corners of his eyes and, still drunk on his giddiness, he lets it claim him.

**== > Rose: analyze**

Rose Lalonde sits by the phone with her wife, staring it down in disapproving silence.

_He's going to marry her._

Her brother filled her in on the details with equal parts vexation and amused sarcasm, clearly upset with his friend's decision and looking for blood. He found no sympathetic ears there.

"Rose, I think it's time we left. Dwelling on this will do you no good." Kanaya's hand is warm on her shoulder, pulling gently but firmly to guide her from the phone.

No, she was not sympathetic with Dave's cause. She wouldn't condemn this girl to whatever caricature Dave had of her in his mind, but she did worry. Her former husband is naïve to a fault and blinded by love, and often so eager to be happy that he could not see his partner clearly.

She returns to her writing in silence, scribbling the same sentence over and over in some weak attempt at distraction. Three pages later, she tosses her novel in the trash.


	15. Be Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viewer discretion is advised. Viewer discretion is advised. Viewer discretion is advised. Viewer discretion is advised. Viewer discretion is advised. Viewer discretion is advised. Viewer discretion is advised. Viewer discretion is advised. Viewer discretion is advised. Viewer discretion is advised.

Her mind is in a frenzy when she walks in. She's spoken with her doctor, with her agent, she knows what's about to happen. She thought she was prepared, but she was wrong.

She signs in with the nice nurse at the front, a jade blood with kind eyes who tells her that she's got nothing to worry about or feel ashamed for. She reaches for her hand gently, looking for reassurance.

"Some people just aren't ready." The woman tells her, and she feels a little better.

The doctor calls her name after a long wait, giving her plenty of time to reconsider. No one wants her doing anything she will regret. She worries she might regret it anyway.

She settles into the chair, spreading her legs and feeling far more exposed than usual. The doctor gives her some gas and some medication to slow the bleeding, and tells her that it might be a little uncomfortable for a while. It is. She wishes he were here, that she could have been brave enough to tell him.

She's being a coward, and she knows it. She hopes he will forgive her. There are just some things that _were_ _not meant for girls like her.  
_

When it's over, she escapes out the back door.


	16. Welcome Home

**== > John: greet**

Something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong.

She walks through, and any hint of the smile she usually gives you is missing. An hint of a hello, or an acknowledgement of your presence is missing. Her eyes are bleary and red and her mouth is pulled tight.

"Simone…?" She turns to face you, forcing a grin and yet looking smaller and infinitely more delicate than you've ever seen her. Her ashen skin seems to wither as you watch. She shies away from your touch, humming to herself before wincing and bracing herself along the sofa. She's in pain.

You bring up a chair for her quietly, and she takes it with a quick kiss. She won't meet your eyes.

You decide it might be better to leave her alone for a little while. She'll talk when she's ready.

* * *

**== > John: wait**

She's not making any sense to you, rocking back and forth almost as if she was completely hammered. She pauses to giggle every once in a while.

"Honey, your house… I think the wall is crooked." She snorts to herself. Her hand rests lightly on her stomach, and you notice the slightest wince once again.

The time isn't right yet, and you really hate being patient.

* * *

**== > John: approach**

She's swaying less, stabilizing a bit on the chair. You close the book you've been reading; it's not like skimming that same paragraph over and over again was actually getting you anywhere. It's hard to focus when you think your fiancée might be in trouble.

Her eyes cloud over when you approach, and the giggling is gone. Whatever weird mood she was in is out of her system and it's time for you to figure out what the fuck is going on.

"So… " You trail off, not sure of exactly where to start. She blinks a couple of times, grabbing at her forehead as if she could wipe her thoughts clean. The silence is beyond frustrating.

"Simone, please tell me you weren't high just then…" she shakes her head, and you breathe a sigh of relief. You press a finger to the bridge of your nose, hoping to stop the headache before it starts.

"Right. Good. So uh, this is pretty weird. Is everything okay?" She stares straight ahead, unblinking.

"Simone?" She won't look at you, her olive skin still unnaturally pale. She'd better stop freaking you out like this; it's really not funny.

"Simone?" In a lapse of judgment you reach for her shoulders, feeling the panic rise under your skin as she forces you away, slipping off the chair. She lands hard on the ground, wincing and detached and scrambling to get to her balance.

She's too small, and the way she's holding her belly…

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, what happened?" You're on your knees by her side in an instant, reaching for her hand, her hair, anything you can touch to get her to talk to you because holy shit this can't be happening right now. Not when everything was going so well.

"Are you hurt?" She refuses to let you touch her, to let you help in any way. Her eyes are so tired and her face is so pale and you really can't be handling this kind of worry right now. Or ever. Your heart pumps faster in your ears with every silent struggle.

She scoots away from you, shifting her legs, giving you a full view of the blood spotting through her shorts. Any guilt you might have felt is drowned in panic.

"Simone, what the fuck happened?" She's struggling to make words, and you can hear the shaking of her breath match your own. You're too far gone to care.

"I-"

"You what? What HAPPENED?"

"I couldn't do it, honey..."

"Couldn't do what?"

"I couldn't be pregnant, okay!? I thought I could. I really, really wanted to be ready, but I'm just... not!"

She might as well have just hit you with a sledgehammer. Rational thought seems to fade as you struggle to stay upright.

She had an abortion. Casey's little brother or sister is gone. Your child, your link to this girl that you love, who resisted loving you back for so long, just doesn't exist anymore. Just like that.

You're not sure exactly how long you have been shouting for. Simone flinches, failing to hide her distress.

"What the FUCK does that even MEAN!?" She's backing away from you and you can't even bring yourself to stop shouting.

"It means I'm fucked up, okay?! I'm not a mom! I don't know how to be a mom!"

You're at a loss for words, and yet somehow your mouth doesn't want to close. You want to scream, to destroy everything in sight, to make her understand that this isn't a decision she gets to make without telling you. And she just looks so fucking scared, and then you're guilty too, and holy shit you have no idea what to do with yourself.

She could have at least taken you with her, but now she's sitting here, scared and in pain on your kitchen floor and Casey is going to be home in another couple of hours…

"Why didn't you just TELL ME?!" She's pressed against the wall, as far away from you as she can get, and her hair flutters in the wind. You're desperate to touch her, to shake her or hold her and tell her that you hate her forever and you're so sorry she had to go alone. You have barely enough presence of mind to know not to go anywhere near her.

She scrambles to get to her feet, still pressed against the wall, wincing with the effort of backing away from you. Oh god, how did she even get here? Did she DRIVE after that?

"I was going to tell you that I was freaking out, but you were so excited! I didn't want to ruin it, I didn't know what I was doing-" The sound of a coffee mug knocking off the counter cuts her off with a shriek. You take a step towards her and she cowers away, and you hate her for not loving you enough to trust you.

She's cornered. You make very, very sure to keep yourself between her and the door. And then, for the first time since you've known her, her eyes water.

"John, I'm sorry."

The air around you stills, and her hair settles into a giant mess over her shoulders. She makes no effort to straighten it.

Something in you is numb.

"If you're not a mom, what are you?"

"…what?"

"You keep saying you're not a mom, even though you take care of Casey all the time. You never wanted to be my girlfriend; it was like pulling teeth to get you to admit you even liked either one of us. You don't trust me, you don't make decisions with me, you don't fucking CARE about what you do to me."

She swallows, and the fear in her eyes raises a sick pleasure in your stomach. Adrenaline clouds your mind and the pressure in your chest is overwhelming. You want her to hurt with you.

"Of course I care-"

"Whore."

Her tears spill over, and she curls into herself into the wall.

"You're a fucking WHORE!" You're shouting again, vision white-hot and skin burning with anger. Her eyes dart around you, to the door you have your back to. She clings to the wall, unable to make a move, and as long as she's still functioning she sure as hell isn't caring enough about how much she's hurting you. You reach for your wallet.

"So what's the usual rate, then?! HUH? What is it, one hundred, two hundred times we've fucked?! Do I get a frequent visitors discount, because asking FULL FUCKING PRICE seems pretty greedy right now!"

She's crying now. Really crying. Good. You throw a wad of cash down by her feet, and she backs away from it like a poisonous snake.

"Is that going to cover it?"

"John, stop…" her knees shake as she struggles to stay upright, trying her absolute damndest not to touch the cash on the floor.

"WELL? IS THAT ENOUGH OR DO YOU NEED A COUPLE THOUSAND MORE?!"

"MOM, STOP IT!" She covers her mouth in horror, tears spilling over her fingers.

Oh jesus fuck.

It's a delayed reaction, with you trying so hard to stop yourself from screaming and not quite able to keep up with the hate pouring from your mouth. She moves faster than you can react, grabbing her coat and heading towards the door. You can't quite compose yourself enough to tell her to wait, that you fucked up, you really didn't mean any of it…

The door slams behind her, and you can finally shut your mouth to hear the silence.

What the fuck did you just do?

**END OF ACT 1**


	17. The Part You Throw Away

**Act 2**

 

Your name is John Egbert and you are very, very tired. You've been on the phone for hours, leaving voicemail after voicemail and still being ignored. For the past three days you've done nothing but sit by your phone, calling and writing letters and hoping beyond hope that maybe some of what you're saying is getting through.

Your eyes lose focus for the thousandth time today, but you can't sleep. Not yet. You have to know that she is okay.

You hear her answering message, now so familiar that you could recite the words in perfect time. She sounds so disgustingly, inappropriately cheerful and you can only hope that maybe some part of her remembers that you were sitting next to her while she recorded it.

Your phone's screen shatters as you slam it down against the counter.

Her jacket is still in your kitchen, her shoes in your closet, a mother's day present from Casey resting in your bedroom. There's still a blanket on her futon and her lipstick in your bathroom, and a hoodie of yours somewhere in her studio. She never bothered bringing her own hairbrush because she never saw anything particularly wrong with using yours.

You try to convince yourself that she wouldn't leave all that behind, that she'll have to come back to pick something up eventually. You'll see her again. It can't end like this.

You open your laptop once again, hoping to find her on pesterchum or maybe a response to any one of your seventy-six emails. Her name is still gray, and you feel vaguely ill.

**\- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering paradiseMistress [PM] at 01:26 -**

**EB: Simone?**

**EB: okay, look, I know that was bad.**

**EB: really bad. probably the worst things I've ever said to anyone.**

**EB: but I am so, so sorry.**

**EB: please talk to me. let me make it up to you.**

**EB: come on, you can't leave it like this.**

**EB: talk to me.**

**EB: I love you please just talk to me.**

**EB: I didn't mean any of it. It was so awful of me to say, I'll never do it again…**

**EB: please.**

* * *

Your name is John Egbert, and your best bro is forcing you to eat something. You aren't really sure if you appreciate the gesture or just want to puke it up.

Casey doesn't understand what's happening. You wish you had the mental prowess to explain it to her right now, but you barely remember how to work your phone at this point. And you need to work your phone. Simone had just had a major medical procedure when you decided to act like an imbecile. She might be hurt. She might have been in a car crash on the way home, and you would never know.

Dave is shoving a glass of water in your face, and you drink it reluctantly. You know you're dehydrated. You know you're probably still shaking from low blood sugar. All this means pretty much nothing until you figure out how the hell you're supposed to fix this situation.

* * *

Your name is John Egbert and your daughter won't speak to you.

You've taken a break from sulking around the kitchen table to attempt picking Casey up from school. She's angry. You don't know why she's angry. You don't know if you're still sane enough to really ask her. You try to pull her close, and tell her everything is going to be okay. She calls you a liar.

She doesn't come down for dinner that night, and for the first time since Simone left you find yourself able to cry.

* * *

Your name is John Egbert, and you can't hear her voicemail message anymore. She changed her number. You hate yourself for not recording it, because you know that in time you might forget what her voice sounds like.

You realize you've been reciting the former message out loud like a crazy person. You're careful to match every inflection, every slight detail until you drill the sentence into your mind. You need to remember this, because it might be all you have left.

Her shoes are still in your closet, you remember. There's a blanket on her futon and her lipstick in the bathroom, and a mother's day present from Casey in your bedroom. She can't leave all that behind. She has to come back. You'll see her again.

* * *

Your name is John Egbert and you don't really want it to be anymore. You don't know how to deal with this. You don't know if you can.

You have a little girl who only looks at you in rage, because you aren't the father she's supposed to have. You wish she would talk to you. You know she's hurting, just like she knows you've lost your mind. But how are you supposed to explain to her what happened, what her Aunt did, what you said?

You saw Casey this morning. She had on some lipstick that you think you might have seen before, and she told you she was going to be staying with her Aunt Jane that night. She hates how you cry now, and you can't blame her. You hate how she cries too, alone in her room when she thinks you can't hear. You wish she would stay home so you could both cry together.

You tell her to have fun and be safe, and to call you when she gets there after school. She says nothing, and slams the door behind her.

* * *

Your name is John Egbert and you hate Simone Rogers. Simone Rogers is a bitch, a whore, everything else you called her and more. You had every right to let that fucking awful human being know exactly where she stood in your life. And you would do it all again if you saw her. She doesn't get to break your heart like this.

More than that she doesn't get to do this to Casey. You can hear her sobbing and screaming behind that door, and you can't enter. You tried. You knocked and you called her name as gently as you could, and you found yourself ducking a hairbrush and two pillows.

"GET AWAY FROM ME! I WANT MY MOM!"

You hear a crash and a scream behind the doorframe, and bitterness surges in you once again. Your daughter is hurt, and you can't even get close enough to touch her.

Simone Rogers is a fucking bitch and you hope she never made it home that night.

* * *

Your name is John Egbert and you spend the rest of your night shoving tacky high heels down your garbage disposal.

* * *

Your name is John Egbert and you hate yourself.

The keys of the piano are cool against your head, but it's nearly impossible for you to play this way. You don't know how long you've been plinking out the melody to "Heart and Soul," but it feels like it might have been your entire life.

You destroyed her shoes. Now she has one less reason to come back.

Casey's going to be home soon, and you need to make dinner. Dave and Jade have stopped by to order food a few times in the past couple of weeks, and Jane makes sure to keep your fridge well stocked with casserole dishes and the occasional tub of ice cream. But you know your daughter misses your cooking, and that even Jane's gourmet comfort food doesn't have that feeling of normalcy she wants.

You've finished the song, and with a heavy sigh, you start again. C. C. C… you stop and decide to change keys to keep it interesting.

There's still her lipstick, but you know Casey took it with her to her mom's house. There's a blanket on her futon, but she probably has one of her own. There's a mother's day present from Casey sitting in your bedroom that she might have loved once upon a time, but would now just be a reminder of the family who claimed they loved her and then treated her like garbage.

Casey's off with her mom for a while. You thought it might be better to give her a parent who knows how to function properly in a stable relationship. Even if Rose is too busy, Kanaya will take care of her. Kanaya is a better parent than the two of you put together.

You call Casey every night. Sometimes she wants to talk until she falls asleep. Other times she acts as if she's forgotten any words other than "yes" and "no." On those nights, you end up calling her number again.

"We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service."

* * *

**\- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering paradiseMistress [PM] at 22:49 -**

**EB: Simone?**

**EB: look, I don't know if you're getting these, or if you even care anymore.**

**EB: but I wish things hadn't ended this way.**

**EB: I love you.**

**EB: that hasn't changed.**

**EB: if you don't want to marry me I wish you would just say so.**

**EB: so I could know you're still alive somewhere.**

**EB: I keep thinking you're going to show up outside my door.**

**EB: but you never do.**

**EB: I'm sorry. I really, really am.**

**EB: Casey misses you.**

**EB: I don't know what to tell her.**

**EB: I can't...**

**EB:** _this message has been removed_

* * *

Your name is John Egbert and you feel completely vile right now. You don't want to be checking her website. You don't want to be seeing this. But you have to know if she's okay. That's all it is, you tell yourself.

There she is, smiling at the camera, as if nothing ever happened. She moans, she winks, she bends over and licks her lips and you wonder how she manages to wear so much lipstick without smearing it all over his dick. She moans, and you know it's fake because you know the way her eyes half-close and her mouth tenses when she's actually enjoying herself. You hate these men who are so lucky as to be able to touch her, but won't even bother to smile for it.

The newest video is at the top, and you click. She bites her lip and pushes her hand down between her legs, sighing to the camera, asking you how badly you want to be there with her. She's got on so much eyeliner and those platform heels can't be doing anything to make her comfortable.

You hate your traitorous dick more than anything right now. You don't want to be turned on by this. You're miserable. You're lonely and sick and you really, really just wanted to see that she was okay, that she was still alive to make videos. You love her, and yet that ache between your legs gets stronger every time she looks at the camera.

An hour under cold water later, you realize you never checked the dates on any of the videos. You can't bring yourself to look again.

* * *

Your name is John Egbert and you are stuck somewhere in a wretched, complacent limbo.

Casey is home again, but she's not the same. She wears makeup now. She goes out in a range rover sometimes, instead of walking to school with Adam. She won't come downstairs to play games with you at night.

Dave and Jade come over sometimes, but that's not the same either. You can see how hard they're trying not to kiss or cuddle in front of you, and you try very hard not to begrudge them their happiness. Sometimes you even succeed.

Jade kisses the side of your head and tries her hardest to pull you closer. She's sandwiched between you and Dave, a hand in each of yours, and once upon a time this would have been one of the best feelings in the world. But there is still your daughter upstairs who refuses to hug her dad goodbye, who sneaks out of bed to check messages on her phone, who cries when she thinks nobody can hear her. She's used up almost all of her lipstick, and when it's gone you don't know how to replace it.

And somewhere in the house, lurking in the back of your mind, there is a laptop that is always open, with a pesterchum window that is always waiting for a response.


	18. Beer

**== > Be Casey**

It doesn't look right. You keep trying, and you wear it every day, but you will never get it to look the way it's supposed to.

It takes a moment for you to steady your hand, drawing your eyelid tight as you trace the line over it for a third time. Nope. Your fingers shake a little, and the black ink gets slightly wider and wobblier. You try to wipe the eyeliner away with the side of your hand, but all that does is smear it ridiculously across your forehead and cheek. It doesn't want to go anywhere, and you don't have time to get frustrated. You have to meet your friends soon (before Jade gets here and ruins your plans) and you can't leave the house looking like a teary-eyed demented pirate.

You rush to the toilet paper, wiping furiously until your eyelid is red and raw. You look terrible. You don't know how to do your makeup and you can't braid your hair without help, and everything is going to go wrong if you don't get out of the house ASAP.

Simone promised to teach you this one day. She said you were too young to be worrying about how you looked at the time, that you should have fun with your friends and she would tell you all about makeup and clothes when you were older. You wonder if she was just saying that to get out of teaching you, since she must have known she wasn't going to be around.

Ugh. You'll have to ask one of your friends to do it for you, because that's a car door slamming in your driveway. You pry open the bathroom window, making sure to crawl out as silently as you can before Jade makes her way to the door.

* * *

**== > Be Dave**

You never thought that hanging out with Egbert would be so much _work._ Dragging him bodily out of that foul-ass monkey hole he calls a bedroom and keeping him upright on a bar stool is already draining as fuck, and he still won't so much as tell you off for it. He's a fucking wreck if you ever saw one. You're starting to think liquoring him up was a really bad idea.

He eyes you sideways, head bowed over a half-full glass. You know that look. He's gotten past tipsy and into that uncomfortable introspective stage that you know nothing good comes from.

Except Blistex. That was a beautiful, once in a lifetime moment.

"Where's Jade?" He mumbles. Finally. At least he's not mute.

"She wanted to talk to Case. I thought you could use some time out of the house and away from the kids."

He hiccups once, and you have to steady him on top of the stool. It's not a pretty sight, that's for damn sure.

"All I ever get is time away from the kids." His smile is bitter, closer to a snarl. "Casey's always gone. Adam doesn't come over 'cause Casey's always gone. Why… if they're still at home we should be there too. I want to see my daughter."

Of course he wants to be at home, that's the only place he ever wants to be anymore. Well, you really thought you were going to be helping. That has to count for something, right?

"Look… she and Jade might need some time alone. And no offense but you're about as ready to see Case right now as I am to finish that scotch."

John stares you down in drunken silence before collapsing in defeat. It's not a pleasant fact, but it's true. He's in no state to parent. John can almost function at a normal human level now, but he's been moping and ranting to Jade for weeks. He needs to be out of the house, and someone needs to talk to Casey without her hurling blunt objects in their general direction.

You hope Jade is having better luck with teen angst than you are with your bitter, slobbering sob story here. He chugs down the rest of his glass in one go, and you think for a second that it's going to come right back up all over the bar.

"Yeah, I think we've got to cut you off, man. We can go back to my place if you need to sleep this off." Or if you, you know, want to talk or anything.

"Ssssssure." He sways. "Maybe… that'd be good."

* * *

**== >**

The cold night air is pretty sobering, even to your already sober mind. John still stumbles here and there, but you can see his eyes coming back into focus. He's going to have a killer headache when this wears off, and no doubt he's going to want to murder you.

God damn it. Why does cheering up your bro have to be so fucking complicated? Finding the right level of drunk, the right place to be… it works sometimes, but tonight you're really striking out. Honestly, this isn't nuclear physics; you should be able to at least put a smile on his face for a split second.

He pauses for a moment, shaking his head out a little bit, and you really, really hope he's not going to start puking on the sidewalk. The two of you are in public, there are probably cops nearby, and the last thing daddy demented here needs is a criminal record.

"Dave." He stares at you in complete seriousness. "…I really need some mac and cheese. Right now."

Idiot. "Yeah, yeah, I've got a box at home. We've just got to get you there, okay?"

"You know, when Casey was younger the only thing she would ever eat was pasta."

"I remember, man." Your mind spins into overdrive, trying to think of some way to steer this conversation away from the sixteen wheeler it's about to crash into. You can't let tonight die in the wreckage of John's verbal suicide.

He's tearing up. Shit. You need to get him home quickly so he can lie down. Or something. Shit shit shit, what do you do with an emotionally unstable grown man in the middle of the sidewalk?

"She wouldn't even look at anything else. For years. And then Simone-" you have to flinch at the S-word "came along and told her vegetables were cool. And Casey wanted to be cool like her aunt…"

His voice is breaking, trailing off into that high-pitched whine that can only ever mean trouble. He's got his glasses on his forehead so he can shield his eyes, but there's that broken, awkward sob that you couldn't ignore if you wanted to.

"Dave, how am I supposed to explain this to her? She wants to know what happened, and I have no idea what to say…"

You manage to get an arm around his shoulder before he falls, but holy shit what the fuck is anyone supposed to do in this situation?

"Twice now. Fucking Rose and then… Simone." His back is heaving under your arm, and you're slightly alarmed when you realize it's from laughter. "I don't know why I even bothered trying. She didn't want to be with me in the first place."

His weight is falling on you, harder than before. You try your best to move him in the general direction of home, but he's rooted. He won't budge, and people are starting to stare.

"Hey, this breakdown is really charming and everything but can we move it back to my—"

"I think I hate her."

Okay. Good. This is progress. Better to have him pissed off and ranting than sobbing over the sweatshirt she used to wear. You're about to start encouraging him, but he's pretty clearly not done.

"I think I hate her stupid face and the shoes that she was gonna break her ankles on, and I think the kid we were gonna have together would have been stupid too. It would have looked like her. Stupid fucking weddings and stupid fucking wives."

"You got it bro. She doesn't deserve you." There might be the slightest hint of a grin under his too-long hair. That's the next step here: hygiene. You're pretty sure his stubble is starting to grow it's own stubble at this point.

"Yeah! She's gotta be, like, fucking Satan incarnate or something. And she liked the _worst music._ And she let Casey stay up way too late and let her fans touch her boobs whenever they wanted…" He hiccups, and that tiny grin of his has your heart running giddy circles in your chest.

"No kidding." You've got to keep him going. "What the hell kind of bimbo doesn't know how to play Pictionary? Shit's like the easiest fucking game in the world."

"Oh my god don't even start! She couldn't play _anything!_ "

"Nothing?"

"She knew Monopoly, but that was just about the only fucking thing. I had to teach her to Go Fish. What. The. Fuck."

You laugh. "I have no idea, dude. Good thing you got rid of that one, right?"

He wipes his eyes, settling his glasses back onto his face. "Hell yes. I don't need her, and Casey doesn't need her. She's awful and if I ever see her again it'll be too fucking soon."

"Damn straight. You don't need some whore screwing up—"

You've been punched an awful lot of times in your life, and by an awful lot of very strong people. This hit would barely register as pain if the fist currently embedded in your skull didn't belong to John Egbert.

He's wild eyed, rubbing at his wrist with his lips curled into a snarl. It takes a moment for the shock to subside and the pain to set in, and by that point you realize he's yelling.

"Don't you EVER talk about her that way! Don't you fucking DARE!"

There's a moment of strained silence, his unfocused eyes meeting yours in some semblance of a challenge, and then he's gone. You didn't think he could run that fast.

"I'm sorry, man!"

If he heard you, he doesn't show it.

* * *

**== > Be John**

It takes you a moment to realize why your hand hurts so much. You've fought a lot before, and you're very skilled, but… you have no idea how to throw an actual punch. You've always had a weapon with you to make it easier.

Casey's gone, but you can't say you didn't expect it. Poor Jade nearly lost her mind worrying, but sure enough midnight rolled around and you got a call from her friend's mother. They've been drinking, but they're safe. You ask if Casey can stay the night, and the airheaded mother agrees. You're both too wasted to act like a family right now.

Something's wrong with your wrist, and you need to get ice on it fast. That was so, so dumb of you, what made you think punching anyone was a good idea? You need that wrist to play piano, and you need to play piano if you want to have enough money to fix Casey's braces next month. Lessons bring in a little bit of cash, but definitely not enough for an orthodontist.

_Whore_

Even thinking the word is enough to have you seeing white, and you wonder for a moment if you might cook the peas you've got sitting on your wrist. You didn't really know that it was possible for your skin to be both crawling and on fire at the same time.

Whore. You despise that term. If there were a way to erase it from every language permanently you would do it in seconds. You would make sure no one even knew what that word meant, least of all Dave and his stupid ugly sunglasses that he shouldn't be wearing at night anyway.

God, you don't care about Dave or his shades. He was just trying to help you. It doesn't even matter if he used that word or any other when he's talking about her, because she'll never hear it. She only ever heard it when you shouted it in her face.

Jade confirms that your wrist isn't broken, but you still hurt enough to sit down and whine for the rest of the night. You don't think you would be capable of much else at this point. She calms herself down with tea for both of you, curling up on your shoulder with a book in hand. You flip on the TV and find something mind-numbing enough to keep you occupied, and if you pretend hard enough that Casey is upstairs you might start thinking this is a normal evening.


	19. Cool Blue Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adam's letters are written by the lovely Brooke Stardust.

**== > Be Adam**

It's hard growing up. It's hard and nobody understands.

Ninth grade is easy for you, in terms of grades at least. You get shoved into lockers a little less. Your asthma gets a little more manageable with age, and your dads are so thrilled that you're well enough for them to train you in a proper fight. You have long since memorized pressure points and nerve endings, so brawling is easy to learn. You just have to make sure the fight ends before your heart rate rises too far; usually forty-five seconds is the limit.

Your dad smirks as you dismantle his sparring bot yet again, and tosses you an inhaler from the sidelines. Your heart is beating far too fast and your breathing is uncomfortable, and you wonder why he never seemed this happy when you aced a test.

* * *

**== >**

Casey still walks with you sometimes, but not as often. She's still in middle school while you've moved on, and she's got a new group of friends. A new group of friends with a car and an agenda, heavy makeup and loud music. When she's with them, she's rowdy and annoying and sometimes really rude, but she's not sad like she is with you. So you walk alone more often than you used to, and you make sure to avoid routes with dogs.

You know you need to be worried about learning to drive soon, but the whole idea of cars makes you so nervous you could vomit. You'd rather just focus on your grades.

* * *

**== >**

Your teachers have started noticing exactly how far ahead of the curve you are, and your workload triples without warning. AP classes and college preparation drown you before you've even reached sophomore year, and deans and teachers alike breathe down your neck. You're a genius. You have to make the school proud. At the rate you're going, you're set to graduate high school a year early. Somehow you doubt that your teachers will let you go that easily.

It doesn't matter how many nights you stay up to get your work done, or how fast you can crank out essays for advanced anatomy and physiology courses. There is always another assignment just around the corner. Your nights get longer and lonelier, with nothing but the occasional training to distract you.

* * *

**== >**

It's not until tenth grade that you realize you are attractive. Well, you're still not sure you see it, but people tell you so all the time. Girls follow you sometimes, blushing when you talk to them, asking why you bother with vests, ties, and blazers when you would look so much cuter in jeans and a t-shirt. You just like to look professional, you tell them, but they don't seem to listen.

There's one in particular, Zoey, who you take an interest in. She's cute, with blonde curls, big grey eyes, and a hiccuping laugh. Kissing her comes naturally, if perhaps a little awkwardly at first. Kissing her brother comes pretty naturally, too, and you're not entirely sure why she's so upset about it when she finds out.

You find Zoey to be frightening after that, loud and fragile and completely incomprehensible. She keeps talking about betrayal of trust, about how she thought she loved you and she isn't sure you even liked her to begin with. You can't tell her that she's wrong.

You do not see Zoey again.

* * *

**== >**

Casey comes to meet you after school one day, but she brings some friends with her. You recognize the older boy with her as Drew Cataldo, a handsome and charismatic eleventh grader. You don't like the way his arms are linked around her waist.

"Adam!" she tackles you like she hasn't seen you in forever. It makes your chest hurt to realize that it really has been two weeks. "Hey, honey, what's up?"

She never called you honey before. You wish you could hug her, but it seems strange and uncomfortable with everyone watching.

"Um, nothing really." That's a lie, but you don't know what you have to say that might be interesting to her new friends. Drew eyes you with a jeering smirk, and you want nothing more than for him to go away. You have a lot of catching up to do, and having him breathe down your neck makes that impossible.

* * *

**== >**

You take the SATs three times that year, with a score nearing perfect on your final try. You open the letter with your results alone in your living room, and pin it on the fridge by yourself. Maybe your Dad will want to see it when he gets home from his business trip. Or Dad, when he's finally cooled his head enough to deal with Dad's neediness. You write a couple of letters to let everyone know, and hope that someone will write you back.

* * *

**== >**

To say the shoving into lockers had ended completely was a little premature, you guess. Some teenagers never quite grow out of their childish ideologies.

"You got something to say to us, faggot?" You have no idea what they could want you to say to them. They don't look particularly intelligent or capable of carrying on a conversation.

There is an ugly one with a shaved head breathing heavy down your neck. His halitosis is completely vile, far worse than whatever pain they think they might be inflicting on you. Your sparring matches often have your face shoved into far worse than some flimsy metal.

Their ringleader hovers in front of you, smirking as if he's achieved something commendable by using his two henchmen to pin you. You take a moment to process; there are three of them and one of you, and you doubt forty-five seconds is enough time allowance to take them all down. Besides, fighting gets you in trouble and you can't mar your perfect record.

"You hit my arm, faggot. I think you've got something to say." His bottom two teeth are crooked, you notice, and his grin is terribly lopsided.

"…I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry what?"

"I'm sorry, sir." Each word feels like a stab in the gut, a slow burn of hatred that you can only hope you aren't showing. Apparently you were convincing, because they release you with a laugh.

"Fucking freak." He sneers, knocking your books from your hands as he goes. A pretty girl stops to help you pick them up, but you don't give her the chance to introduce herself.

* * *

**== >**

It's a few months later when you decide to wait for Casey by Uncle John's driveway. You're still a little bruised from Brobot VII, but you think you're improving. Maybe you want to brag to her a little bit. Maybe you just want to ask how she's doing.

She rides up in a range rover full of smoke, and Drew pulls her into a slobbery kiss goodbye. Your heart feels like it might be acting up.

She hesitates when she sees you in the driveway, as if there was an unpleasant stranger lurking outside her house. Her braces are gone now, and her teeth are straight and smooth behind black lips. You can smell the pot on her from feet away.

"Sup, motherfucker." That's new. "Been a while. I'm starting at your school in a couple of weeks, you know."

"I know." Of course you know. You've been looking forward to this for months, but you don't really know how to say that without sounding ridiculous. "I thought you might want me to show you around?"

"Nah, Drew just did. Thanks though." Her eyes are bright red and clouded. You have no idea how she thinks she's going to get this past John.

She runs her tongue over her teeth. "Like 'em? It feels fuckin' fantastic to have 'em this clean."

"Yes. You look nice." She looked just fine with braces, too.

She grins, pulling in close to your ear. The smell of smoke on her breath is overwhelming, and her eyes are out of focus. "Drew likes them too. I can blow him now, how cool is that?"

Her voice is barely a whisper, and she giggles like she just told you the funniest joke in the world. You don't have the presence of mind to do much of anything besides watch her leave. She trips up the front steps on her way inside.

You can't quite bring yourself to go home yet, and so you sit in her driveway. Your nice trenchcoat is getting dirty, but you needed to do laundry later anyway. You rest your head by the wall under her kitchen window, closing your eyes to hear the muffled shouting between her and her dad.

* * *

**== >**

After Zoey there was Tori, Rita, Mark, Virasa, and Eric. Rita and Mark both reacted well when you kissed their neck, and Tori had a sensitive spot along her leg that you could toy with. Virasa really liked having his back scratched roughly, and you wonder if this is a thing all trolls enjoy. You'll have to test this theory. There are still so many nerve endings left to explore.

Your first time is with Mark. You lay him down on his bed, letting him watch you with absolute trust in his eyes and wondering what could have given him the impression that you deserve such a thing. There are so many germs involved in this act, and before you lower your mouth to meet his cock, you find yourself worrying about when exactly he showered last.

His reactions are nice, but you find the sensation as a whole rather unpleasant. Certainly not cool, at least.

* * *

**== >**

Your dads are gone again, and so you write.

_Greetings,_

_It's rare that I find the need to reward myself with material possessions, but a new fountain pen seemed like an appropriate treat after a year of hard work and excellent test scores. I thought writing to you would be an excellent way to break it in._

_I wish I could say I've been spending my free time working on my penmanship, but instead it has been filled with strife practice. I've been able to get my asthma under control enough to hopefully start more training with my dads. I still encounter issues with my heart acting up more than I'd like, but I'm really proud of myself for how far I've come in this. I just wish I could talk to someone about it. Or show it off somehow. Dad always talks about how much he wants to train, but then he gets called away for work related reasons. I'm excited for them to enter the political world again, don't get me wrong. I just wish it wasn't a world that was so far away._

_I'm rambling, I apologize._

_I broke up with Eric the other week. He seemed to say the same thing that all the others have said. I am cold and insufferable. I am beginning to wonder if maybe I'm just not cut out for relationships? Everyone seems to be going on about how sex is amazing and wonderful and relationships are important, but I am not seeing it yet._

_I hope that this letter finds you well. I really miss you quite a lot and I'm sorry for always dumping my problems on you._

_Yours,_

_Adam A.H. Strider-English_

* * *

**== >**

You've saved up enough money for a car, but you don't really want one at this point. You like walking. It clears your head and gives you a little bit of quiet before you're swallowed in exam work once again. You don't answer calls from your boyfriend, girlfriend, or matesprit when you're walking, because they always want something from you that you don't have left to give. This time is yours and yours alone.

* * *

**== >**

You're lying in bed next to her, listening to her pant and gasp and cry for god. Turns out most trolls do like being scratched harder. Perhaps it is their rougher skin that allows for a higher pain tolerance.

You slide your fingers along her back, tracing some of the deep blue marks you left behind. Her body shakes under your touch, and she jerks lightly away. Hypersensitive. Interesting.

You remember, with a vague, heady sense of control, her shivers as you raked your nails along her spine, or her cry when you changed the angle of your tongue. The way she begged for you to let her finish because _it just felt too good_ , and the look in her eyes when you finally brought her past her limit.

With a bored sigh, you head to the bathroom to finish yourself off.

* * *

**== >**

It's late at night when Casey calls you. You haven't heard from her in weeks, so you know already that something is wrong.

When you answer there is nothing but a mess of sobbing on the other line. She might be trying to talk, but you can't tell beyond the background noise. There's a surge of adrenaline, and you can feel your heart racing all through your neck and fingertips.

"Casey? Case!" She's near hysterical, and you can't find your inhaler. You have to get to it before the panic sets in, and it's already getting harder to breathe.

"Adam…" She gasps. She can't form words, and your throat has closed to the point where you can't respond. After some digging around in your coat pocket, your finger scrapes plastic and you manage to open your lungs.

You level the phone back to your ear. "Casey?!" The line is dead. She doesn't pick up when you call her back.

* * *

**== >**

You wish you had spent the money on a car at this point, or at least taken the time to learn to drive. You also wish your dads were home, because they would know what to do and you really, really don't.

John is sitting on the front step when you arrive, looking exhausted and miserable. You hate your knees for not wanting to keep you upright, and every step forward is a struggle.

"John?"

He jerks up, clearly not expecting visitors at this hour. His Ghostbusters pajama pants are a little worse for wear, and he drops the phone he was staring at to clatter on the step below.

"Adam! Have you heard from Casey at all?" He looks so hopeful, like you might have the news that will be able to fix all this. Something about that look is terrifying.

"Um. No. I just… wanted to stop by." You think it's kinder this way.

"Oh… well, um, she's not actually here right now. I don't really know where she is, so if you hear anything, can you let me know?" He's trying to force a grin, but it looks more like he just stubbed his toe.

You settle in on the stoop next to him, and he stares blankly out over the road. You wish you knew something to say that would make the look on his face go away. He just keeps that forced smile, ignoring the fact that his lips are trembling.

"She'll be home soon. I'm one hundred and ten percent positive that she'll be home soon. Do you think I should make her something to eat?" He glances at you, and there's a mania in his eyes that makes you wish you had never left your home in the first place.

* * *

**== >**

You and John have been up most of the night, bonding over coffee and stories. He ruffles your hair when you tell him about your excellent test scores, and you congratulate him on his performance at the new concert hall downtown. If it weren't for the continued shaking of John's hands and mouth, you might have enjoyed this conversation.

You see the shadow move before you see her. She's still walking far away down the road, and John gets to his feet before you do.

"CASEY!" his voice booms loud enough to echo down the street, but she doesn't react. She's quiet, her hair is a mess, and her pupils are so wide that you doubt she can see.

John tries to hug her, but she struggles too much and he's forced to let go. She breezes past him without a second look, hugging herself against the cold. You feel vaguely like a third wheel.

She glances at you as she walks past, and you wonder if she even remembers calling those few hours ago.

* * *

**== >**

When you return home, there is no one there to greet you. You can't sleep, and so you sit down to write letters once again.

_Greetings,_

_I want to apologize in advance for the content of this letter and what is sure to be awful penmanship on my part. I'm not sure how to process this evening._

_Walking home tonight, I experienced two very strong conflicting emotions that I'm not sure fit together at all. Is it possible to both adore and despise someone at the same time? I ask because I received a phone call from a friend earlier today. The call in itself was uneventful, if just because there was nothing said by the person on the other line, but still caused (what was, I am positive, completely warranted) panic on my end. I spent the better part of the evening completely worried sick for my friend, but also loathing her for how much stress she was causing to her father._

_At this point, she's returned home and is, for all intents and purposes, safe, but I'm not sure how long that's going to last. Part of me worries that, come morning, she'll make the decision to go back out and repeat the process again. I think that is the part I'm finding myself hating most. I want to be enough to change her mind on this, but I don't think I will be._

_What I would love is a quick solution to this problem. I fear that one does not exist and I don't know what I'll do if I can't find some way to address it. I cannot imagine you getting too frazzled over this sort of thing, and for that I wish you were here to talk to. Dad and Dad are both out right now and I have no idea what to do. Any advice would be beyond appreciated, though._

_I look forward to hearing from you soon. I promise my next letter will contain far less of this nonsense. Only good news in that one. Maybe I'll just send photographs of small animals like Dad keeps suggesting I should. Or of 'dashing fellows' painted blue._

_Yours,_

_Adam A.H. Strider-English_

* * *

**== >**

A few days later, you find yourself at the convenience store looking for a pack of cigarettes. You might not be old enough, but you find that no one bothers carding the boy in the oxford and tie. You settle on a pack of Marlboros and a lighter, because you don't really care that much about what you're smoking and that's what you see people have most often.

It takes half a cigarette to close your lungs entirely, and with a shaky hand you manage to work your inhaler. The masochist in you insists that you finish every drag, and you're a little proud of yourself when you find you actually can. It only takes two more hits on the inhaler to stop you from feeling like you are about to die.

Uncle Dave might have been lying when he said they were meant to help you relax; your heart is beating near as fast as it would forty-five seconds into a strife. Nothing in you is relaxed, or anywhere close to relaxing, but you take out another cigarette and try again.

It might take some time, but you hope cigarettes will help get the job done. You're due to start college in a year's time, and this stress is becoming too much for you too fast.


	20. Blank Generation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED

**== > Be Casey**

That's fine. You're totally cool with being Casey. Being Casey is good, amazing even. Sure, your mom is frigid as hell, your dad is miserable and a terrible liar, and nearly everything you do pisses someone off, but that's fine. You're having fun. You deserve a little fun in all this misery, even if it doesn't seem like any of the people you love want to share it with you.

Your new friends want to share it with you, though. Drew picks you up in his car (he has a _car!_ ) and turns up the music until you can barely hear yourself think. The bass thumps all the way down to your core while Kyvris packs a bowl in the backseat and Zack unloads his water bottle full of vodka. It only takes a couple of coughing fits before you can hold long enough to take effect, and Drew shotguns the smoke from your mouth in what might just be the sexiest thing you've ever done.

Part of you wonders if your dad had actually tried any of this stuff before lecturing you about it, because holy fuck is it _awesome._ You're not an idiot like Dave, no matter what anyone says. It's just a little bit of grass and a little bit of liquor. Right now it just feels amazing not to have to think too hard.

You pass Adam on the street, walking home on his own. Shit. You'll probably catch up with him tomorrow. If you're feeling up to it, and if he isn't studying too hard like a jackass. Studying just makes everyone miserable, and you wish he wouldn't bother with it too much.

A wave of longing hits you, and you do your best to bite it down. Zack made a joke that was apparently really funny, and you laugh along so you won't be left out.

* * *

**== >**

Your Dad shouts some more when you get home, smelling the pot on you in a heartbeat and grounding you for the third time this week. You sit there quietly, listening to him rant about your future while that same old vein throbs in his forehead. To say you're taking no pleasure in his rage would be a lie. You love it when he gets mad at you. For fuck's sake, at least when he's mad he's looking at you instead of moping everywhere.

Slamming your door makes for a nice effect, and listening to him slam his makes things even better. The sick, horrible self-satisfied feeling rises in your stomach, but it's not quite enough to make you smile. You collapse on your bed, drained and foggy, with the last traces of a high fading from your mind.

It takes a moment for you to realize that your phone is actually ringing, and Drew isn't just texting you to make the time pass more quickly. That's kind of weird. You haven't called anyone lately, and no one really bothers calling you unprompted.

Your body can't quite keep up with your head, and so you fumble with your touchscreen for ages before figuring out how to unlock it.

"…'Lo?" Your slur is a bit more pronounced than you'd like.

"Casey?" The voice on the other end is sharp and professional, with flawless diction that makes you a little embarrassed to sound so sloppy. You pinch your arm once or twice, trying to snap out of your fog so you won't feel like an asshole for forgetting whom this voice belongs to…

"Casey, it's your mother."

"Oh. Right." No wonder you don't remember it. You never hear it.

"Your father is worried about you. He suggested I call to see how you were."

"Course he did. Why would you ever call just because you want to?" You mutter it under your breath, but just loud enough so she can hear. Part of you realizes you're being a jerk, but apologizing is out of the question.

She hesitates, composing herself on the other line. You imagine her, smoothing her skirt and fidgeting through her paperwork trying to distract herself from the asshole daughter that she never really liked.

"I do not do things I don't want to, Casey. And, in fact, I want to invite you to come stay with Kanaya and I again."

"No." Hell no. You have enough trouble living with your dad, and you don't feel like you have to walk on eggshells around him.

"No what?"

She can't be serious right now. "No I'm not five and you're not going to get me to say "no thank you." Can we not do this right now? I have homework."

"I'm sure you won't mind putting it off for a few minutes. I'd rather have a talk about these angry outbursts of yours."

"What angry outbursts?"

"Please don't play dumb with me. I understand that this must be a difficult time in your life, there are a lot of things changing for you and maybe you don't feel as if anyone else understands—"

"Right. That's all it is. Normal growing pains for a normal teen, right? Nothing to do with you or anyone else."

"Let me finish speaking before—"

"Before we get to the part where you're an accidental asshole? No thanks. I've had that conversation, and it sucks."

"Language. And your father and I are doing the best we can for you. We are not perfect, and quite frankly neither are you. I would appreciate it if you could relax and let him attempt to act as your guardian."

This conversation is boring and leading you to dangerous places. You have to end it now, before you're one hundred percent sober and ready to shut down.

"Bye, mom." You wish you could be more clever and creative, but hanging up is all you can come up with at the moment. It causes a sickening drop in your stomach to realize that even after all this time, you want to impress your mother with your nonexistent wit.

Maybe if you studied more you would be quicker with your comebacks. Of course, that would involve effort, and effort involves focus, and focus involves calming down long enough to think and oh shit. Everything's overwhelming and you're sick of crying, sick of wondering what went wrong and why the hell you have to be so unhappy. Sick of wondering why you weren't enough to keep your family together in the first place.

You wish you were brave enough to keep a stash in your room. Drew keeps offering to give you some of his extra, but that little nagging part of you that knows where he gets it all makes you hesitate. Right now you can call that part a coward, like the part that wishes she hadn't just been a jerk to her mom, or the part that called Adam in tears just because watching her friends fuck on the couch scared her shitless.

There's a prickling starting at the corner of your eyes, and you try to turn your focus from it. You message Drew, Zack, Kyvris, anyone you can think of trying to find some way to drag yourself out of this, but there's only one person who messages you back.

**\- embersEngineer [EE] began pestering macaroniMayhem [MM] at 15:56 -**

**EE: Hey Case.**

**EE: My Dads are gone for another week, so I thought maybe we could meet?  
**

**EE: It's been a while. And I'd really like to talk.  
**

**EE: I'm certain it won't be quite as exciting as time with your other friends, but I have money for take-out and a fair movie collection.**

**EE: Please get back to me. Any time this week is good**

He keeps trying. He still wants to see you and you've given him no reason to. You don't know what to think, not after all those nights under the covers and all those secrets you trusted him with.

You type out too many different responses, cycling through them all but sending none.

**hells yes, how's thursday?**

**of course i want to catch up, but this week is reaaaaaaaally busy.**

**why would you want to see me anyway?**

**why does it matter if your dads are gone, at least you know they're coming back someday.**

**please don't hate me, i'm freaking out a little.**

**i miss you.**

**yeah sure i'll be over, to break your glasses you dork.**

**why do you even like me?**

**what is wrong with me?**

On your last note, you finally get the courage to hit send.

**MM: leave me alone.**

**\- macaroniMayhem [MM] ceased pestering embersEngineer [EE] -**

* * *

**== > Be Kanaya**

You have about three hours until you need to meet Karkat for dinner, and another five until the two of you find Terezi for that movie you were planning to see. You've already showered, applied your makeup, and changed clothes several times, and somehow you find yourself going through your wardrobe once again to find something better.

You invited Rose out of courtesy, of course, but you knew the answer would be no from the start. Once upon a time you might have considered this an obvious double date night, but you knew it was foolish to expect anything other than a night out with friends.

No, Rose is upstairs and uninterested in you, typing away on her laptop for endless hours of research. You see it every time you use her computer, waiting for you in the search history; a thousand open tabs on teenage psychology, the anatomy of a healthy rebellious phase, the importance of stability in the life of a teenager. There's a list of studies completed by her colleagues and courses she might take to better understand a developing mind. At a glance you might think she was a heroic parent, or at the very least involved in Casey's life, but you know for a fact that today's phone call is the first contact they have had in weeks.

Casey's time here was brief and quiet, laced with passive-aggressive battling and comparisons to her missing Aunt Simone that left your matesprit reeling. Perhaps Casey was merely trying to be cruel, but to think there was no truth in her words would be foolish. Not for the first time, you find yourself wishing that Casey were Rose's patient and not her daughter. Also not for the first time, you have to remind yourself that you cannot act as an auspistice between a parent and child.

You have three hours left to kill and you have been through every clothing combination you have in your wardrobe. There is nothing left to do except be patient and spend time with a partner who cannot forgo reasoning long enough to love anyone.

What an awful, untrue thing for you to think. Your bitterness is clearly getting the better of you. Perhaps your time would be better spent waiting at the restaurant.

You pack your things, grabbing your purse and making sure to take your computer with you. You find your shoes, only pausing outside Rose's office to adjust the clasp of your purse. In those few seconds, you hear the hushed, clandestine tone of a sob beyond her door.

* * *

**== > Be Casey**

The range rover is waiting for you outside at 6, just as promised. Drew parked a couple of blocks down the road, far out of your dad's sight, and waits for you with a smile and a beer.

"Hey, babe… you okay?"

You nod, thinking it's not a lie if you don't use words, and you down three-quarters of the bottle in one gulp. You're a little too thankful that the window is already rolled down, or you would have puked all over his interior instead of the road outside. As everyone in the group knows, the first rule of being around Drew is not to fuck with his car.

You cough and sputter while he brushes back your hair, and you wash away the last traces of partially digested dinner with the remainder of the bottle.

"What's wrong?" He's concerned, pulling your hair back behind your ear.

"Nothing." You reach for a second bottle, uncapping it with relative ease and raising it towards your mouth. Drew stops you with a gentle hand over yours.

"You've been crying."

And just like that you start up again. You collapse into his chest, sobbing and beating your fist on his shoulder, spilling your drink before he takes it out of your hands. He keeps rubbing your back, hushing you quietly, so calm and stable and wonderfully protective. It takes a few moments for you to stop sobbing long enough to make words, but even then you don't really know what you want to say.

"…I hate myself. Let's get fucked up tonight." You think that pretty much gets the point across.

"Yeah." He starts, hesitant. "Yeah, sure. I just need to run and see Gamzee first."

Ugh. "What's Gamzee got that you don't?"

"Ecstasy." He grins. "I heard it makes sex amazing."

You do your best to ignore the wind knocking out of your lungs, trying to keep some composure. "Really? Sex? You're asking for that now?"

"No!" He insists, putting his hands up in non-offense. "No way, I'm not that much of a dick. You just said you wanted to get fucked up tonight, and I mean, there's no better way to get fucked up."

He makes decent point. It might be a little stronger than what you were expecting, but if you want to stop thinking (and dear god you do) it might be time for you to give something stronger a try.

But on the other hand... that shit is terrifying. Like broken glass and needles and a bleeding Dave towering over you in the dead of night.

You clear your throat, trying to keep control of your voice. "Look, it sounds awesome and everything, but I just don't know. I kind of had my heart set on pot tonight."

He rubs your shoulder, pulling you close to his side. "What's making you nervous?"

"I'm not nervous." You insist, tucking your head into him. "I just really want to chill and smoke and get some Easy Mac."

"That's fine. Just let me talk to Gamzee to get some for later. Then when you're up for trying it we can have it on hand."

"I…" You still don't want to, but you can't think of a good reason why not. "Alright, fine. But for later and just for you, okay?"

"Just for me. I promise. But only if you promise to smile by the end of the night."

And you do, just slightly, and he smiles back.

* * *

**== >**

You hate the look on Gamzee's face, the gaunt thinness of his cheekbones and the greasy makeup that lays thick on his fingers every time he scratches his head. You hate the look he gives you, predatory and serene all at once, but more than anything you hate his laugh as he takes the cash from Drew's hands. It comes in harsh, squawking wheezes, like a broken bike horn.

"Enjoy it, motherfucker. And you better treat my motherfuckin' windy girl right."

Drew nods, surely having no idea what a windy girl actually is. You don't actually know what a windy girl is for that matter, let alone why you might be his.

A half hour and one bowl later you're at home, his home. His mother screeches about how he was supposed to pick up his brother from school, and you're a little too high to dodge the spatula she chucks at the two of you. Drew pushes you out of the way, and you escape her wrath in his room. He breaks out the liquor, and you barely manage to finish your beer before he's downed two shots.

Three hours, two bowls and four drinks later and you have a pill in your hand. It's little and cute, and smiling up at you in such a happy way. Drew smiles at you too, and he has one dimple on his left cheek just like Adam does.

The pill looks just like you want to feel, so you take it.

Four hours, two bowls, four drinks and one pill later and you are so happy to have him this close to you. You had thought losing your virginity was going to be scary, maybe even painful, but this is great. Being Casey Egbert is amazing.


	21. Map of the Problematique

**== > Be Jade**

You hate seeing your brother like this, but there's only so much you can do. He's broken down, torn up by the stress of friendleading all of you to hell and back only for hell to keep nipping at your heels.

"I don't know what to do." He mutters again, forehead pressed into the kitchen counter. He's said the same thing for hours, and you still don't know how to respond. Casey's gone again, no doubt for the duration of the night, and when she comes home silent and angry all it will do is drive John further up the wall. There's something wrong, you're not stupid enough to think otherwise, but unless she's willing to cooperate…

"John, it's going to be fine. She'll open up to you eventually."

He sighs. "What if she doesn't?"

"You can't think that way. She's going to, okay? She's smart, she knows you love her." You're not entirely positive that this is true, but you need to keep him thinking straight. There's nothing any of you can do if he spirals into hopeless hysteria.

"I got a call from her teacher two days ago. You'll never guess which psycho clown she and her boyfriend were caught with after school."

Your heart sinks into your stomach. Ugh, that girl.

"Jade, please… I don't know what to do. You have to know what to do, right?"

"I…" You have absolutely no idea. "I think we have to focus on Casey. Gamzee's been dealing for years but it doesn't seem like anyone can do anything about it."

"So we kill him." John deadpans, his eyes free of any humor.

"Hey!" You scowl. "This isn't a game anymore. I don't think that's exactly the easiest thing to do in the first place, not to mention jail and all that…" His snarl seems permanently stuck in place, so you change tactics. "Why not try talking to Adam, instead? Maybe someone her age can get through to her."

"He doesn't see her much anymore, I guess… he doesn't know what's going on with her any more than I do."

Shit. "Do you have her boyfriend's number?"

He shakes his head. "I couldn't keep her phone away from her any more. I don't really want her going out without any way to call me…"

His logic makes sense, but now you're stuck back in this horrible waiting game. You wish you were a little wiser right about now.

Your phone is buzzing, and you hate the relief that floods your system. As horrible as it is to admit, you need a distraction before John drags you into hopelessness with him.

**\- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering GardenGnostic [GG] at 15:27 –**

**TT: Jade?**

**GG: hi rose**

**GG: um**

**GG: how is everything?**

**TT: Meandering and completely unsatisfying at the moment.**

**TT: But that is beside the point.**

**GG: theres a point?**

**TT: Yes. Can you keep a secret from John?**

**GG: um…**

**TT: I will take that as an "um" of agreement.**

**TT: I want to sign Casey up for therapy.**

**GG: i dont know if shes going to want to do that :/**

**TT: This is why I'm going to ask if you would convince her.**

**GG: rose…**

**TT: Please, Jade. I have sent a letter notifying the following doctors**

**–TT sent attachment list1.pdf –**

**TT: and she is to be expected at any one of them within the next week. The first ten sessions will be paid in full and I will handle whatever is next as it comes.**

**GG: rose i cant just convince her to go to therapy!**

**TT: I have no illusions about this being easy, but I think you are the one she's least hostile to at the moment.**

**TT: Of all of us, you are most likely to succeed.**

**GG: thats not the point!**

**GG: im not her mom**

**GG: you are**

**GG: and i really think she might agree to go if you asked her yourself**

**GG: rose? are you still there?**

**TT: I have to go. I have a four o' clock meeting with a patient.**

**TT: Please.**

**GG: ugh!**

**\- gardenGnostic [GG] has ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] –**

So much for a welcome distraction. If this situation gets any more confusing you are going to run home and tell everyone to sort out all their issues on their own.

"Whossat?" John mumbles, still face first in the counter.

"…Rose. I don't think she's coming to visit this week."

"Shit." You don't like it when John curses. "Of course she's not. Why would she? Why would she or my daughter or anyone ever want to act like a reasonable human being in any of this mess?! Why not just leave it to me, right?!"

"John, we're all still here for you. There's no need to yell."

He sighs, deflating further. "I know. Sorry. It's not your fault."

No duh it's not your fault, but you don't know that you can blame him for yelling. You're frustrated enough to get snippy at this point, too. You rub his back gently, hoping that he can find a little bit of comfort in being taken care of, and he leans into your side with a heavy sigh. You can see the bags under his eyes growing larger by the day, and his spine is too pronounced under your fingertips. He needs to eat more.

"Jade." His voice is so quiet, practically a whine. "I'm so tired."

"I know, John." It's not hard to see.

"I think we're in trouble."

"I know." You think he might be right.

"Do you think I should have her home schooled? I really don't want to send her off to military school or something like that…"

You have to take a moment to rationalize your thoughts. There weren't any actual promises made, right? Rose just assumed you would keep a secret. You never said yes, and John has a right to know anyway. It wouldn't be fair not to tell him.

"Rose wants to send her to therapy. If we can actually get her to go… I think it might be a good idea."

" _If_ we can get her to go. That's kind of important…" His pained expression is wearing on you.

"Do you think this might just be a phase she's going through? There's a chance she'll outgrow it. Or maybe it's time to think about going on vacation…"

"Vacation sounds good… I can start saving and we'll go away for a bit."

You stay quiet; John is prideful to a fault. Of course you and Dave will pay for the trip, but he doesn't need to know that right now. He's got enough to stress over.

"Hey Jade?" He blinks up at you.

"Yes?"

"…Am I a bad father?"

His shoulders are thinner than they've been since he was thirteen years old on a golden ship, but holding him feels the same.

"No, John. You're doing the best you can."

* * *

**== > Be John**

Adam doesn't know anything about her anymore. All of her teachers call her "trouble." It wasn't really much of a surprise to you when Jade called to let you know she had dodged her first therapy session.

You know she'll slip past you if given half the chance, hiding from you as easily as if you were blind, deaf and dumb. She'll run inside, change her clothes, and then leave before you ever knew she was there. So you wait. You reschedule your afternoon lesson, grab a book of sudoku, and plunk yourself down in the front yard. You're ready to wait for hours if need be.

Hours might have been an understatement, actually. The sun sets slowly behind the house to the west, and you have to constantly change your angle to be able to catch the light. The road up ahead looks so bleary, desolate, like suburbia post-apocalypse.

There's a family down the street settling in for dinner. You can see them through their dining room window: dad, son, daughter, even a dog. You notice for a moment that there is no partner in the picture, and wonder what it is about that man that makes him so much more successful with his children than you are with yours.

Maybe you should have gotten Casey a kitten, like she asked for when she was little. Maybe she would be home more often to take care of it. Or maybe she would have forgotten it too, and it would be one more thing for you to worry about.

It's getting too dark out to keep at your sudoku. You're not particularly good at them, anyway, so it's not as if you've gotten very far.

You hear the music before you see them; the horrible old range rover plowing down the street. The bass is thundering, loud enough to interrupt the nice family dinner as they turn to stare out the window.

Casey freezes in the passenger's seat when she spots you approaching, recoiling into herself in what looks like fear. That's good. She hasn't been properly afraid of your anger in a very long time.

"Casey Serket Egbert! You and I need to have a talk."

She shifts uncomfortably, eyeing you with caution before reaching behind to grab her backpack. Drew grabs her arm before she can pick it up.

"Stay in the car, babe." He turns back to face you, and you can feel your anger burning brighter than ever before. It's one thing when your daughter talks back to you, but you won't have some smug teenage douchebag talking back on her behalf.

"What's up Mr. Egbert?" Part of you wants to grab a hammer to slam down over his head. If you weren't in public you might actually do so.

"I'm not exactly sure why you're making this your business, Drew, but Casey had an important doctor's appointment today. One she never made it to, because she got into your car instead of her aunt's."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He'll be sorry when you're done with him, at least sorry enough to wipe that smirk off his face. "But I think you ought to know there's nothing wrong with Casey."

"That's not your decision to make. Casey, come with me, please, we need to—"

"Casey's a great girl. Beautiful, smart, talented, why should she waste her time with people who don't appreciate her. Right, babe?" You see a smile and a light blush forming on Casey's face, falling headfirst into flattery. God, it doesn't matter if he's a smooth talker, you're her father and she WILL listen, she has to know that her family is more important than some asshole with a car.

"If you have something to say to me, say it inside. Come on, we can talk about—"

"She doesn't want to go with you. You fucked up her life, drove away the people who loved her, had her dragging herself through her addict uncle's apartment before she was old enough to know left from right. You seriously want to pretend you're the one looking out for her?"

"What do YOU know about looking out for anyone?"

"More than you, I'd guess. She's happy now. I'd—"

"Casey, I am your father and I love you. Please come with me." You're not going to address this asshole, the one pulling all of the wrong strings in you already wound to the point of snapping. Why isn't she speaking for herself?

She hesitates, glancing back and forth between you before casting her eyes down. You don't like this quietness in her, the way you have to strain to hear her voice.

"Casey, I can't hear you. Say what you're going to say."

She keeps her eyes on the floor. "I'm going with Drew tonight. We'll talk tomorrow."

You doubt you've ever heard anything quite so crushing in your life. The sun is gone, and Drew drives off without another word.

Across the road, the happy suburban family clears the table. They make short work of clearing dishes and packing leftovers into tupperware containers. You watch in silent envy as the father pats his son on the back, kissing his daughter's head as she helps him scoop the rest of the vegetables into a plastic bag.

Once, your family looked that perfect. One by one, fight by fight, all the pieces fell away. You wonder, with a brief shot of malicious envy, how long their happy family will last.


	22. Girl on the Wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus there. Long term vacation with little to no internet access. Hope you enjoy.

They told you it wouldn't hurt, but then again, they are often wrong. Your neck is bent at an awkward angle, your hair pulled to the side, and the first two are already stinging enough to make you feel like yanking the needle out of her hands. Kyvris, your "technician," wipes the blood away with a tissue, and you wish you had put your foot down and gone to a proper studio. And asked to see the autoclave. And maybe you should have gotten the right jewelry for the job, because these cheap studs are starting to itch already.

Of course, Drew made it pretty clear that a piercing studio would never do this for you. You're not legal, you're not exactly reputable by nature, and there is no way either of your parents would ever sign off on this. No, Kyvris is your only option.

She pauses after finishing the triple helix, and you finally have a minute to breathe. You have to ask for a break before finishing, you don't care how weak it makes you look. Of course she laughs at you, pointing to her impressive collection of surface piercings, and you make sure to flip her the bird as you head outside.

Your hands are shaking far too much for you to light up quickly. Fuck. You don't have that much time; Drew's supposed to be picking you up in a half hour.

Your lighter slips from your hand, and in your nerves you accidentally crush it under your boot. Double fuck. Triple fuck. Shit piss balls, because the word fuck is already starting to seem funny in your head.

_Big girls don't cry_ , you repeat to yourself in a mantra. Don't cry. Don't cry. Pull your underwear out of your ass and get over it. Your friends are great, and you love them, and this is absolutely something you want to be doing right now. Drew makes you feel beautiful and so, so needed. He wants to be with you all the time. He would never walk out on you, or forget you in any way. He brings you drugs that scare the shit out of you from a clown that scares the shit out of you, but you know damn well that he will accept you when no one else does. You just need to be brave.

It's starting to rain, and you're pretty okay with that. You step out from under the awning, and the mist feels nice on the burning outside your ears. There's probably an ice pack waiting for you at home, but you don't think you can actually go home tonight. You're not ready to fight with your dad about this yet.

No, you'll be staying with Drew. He's got a massive bag of coke and he'll want to share what he doesn't sell, and then he can settle in with his Xbox while you play Fiduspawn. Eventually he'll get tired, and you'll end up on the couch, enjoying the high together while he traces invisible patterns into your back.

You know that time is short if you don't want Kyvris calling you a pussy, and you don't even have a lit cigarette to pretend to smoke. One deep sigh later and you brace yourself to head back in.

* * *

They sting a little and the weight is a bit off, but you're done. Three in a row in the front of your cartilage, one conch, an industrial on your other ear and your center lip. You were so, so close to having your bridge done too, but the sight of the needle was nearly enough to make you faint.

You glance in the mirror quickly, wiping away the blood to admire. They look really, really badass, and you can't help that slight thrill that passes through you at the sight of them. Part of you is kicking yourself for being too chickenshit to handle more, to look like Kyvris with her horns shorn tight and her skin dotted with shining metal. You could be like that too, if you could handle just a little more pain.

The door opens, and you recognize Drew's footsteps approaching.

"Hey, babe." His arms snake around your middle as he pulls you into his chest. "You look amazing. Do you like them?"

"Yeah." And it's the honest truth. "Hurt like a bitch, though."

"Aww, poor baby can't handle a little needle. C'mere." He brushes some of your hair away, pressing his lips lightly over your ear. "Let me make it better."

"Gross! Not over the open wound, man, who knows what the hell is in your mouth?" His hands are moving along the hem of your shirt, and you have to brush them away. Kyvris probably couldn't care less about what you're doing, but you'd really rather not get slobbered on just now.

He doesn't stop. "Come on, it's just a little fun. You know I brush my teeth."

"Course you do," you grin, pulling his hands off of you and placing them by his sides. "Still doesn't mean I want your spit in my blood. Let's go home."

He smirks as you pull him down for a kiss, running his hand through your hair with reverence, sliding down your shoulder to help guide you to the car. He opens the door for you, waiting like a perfect gentleman as you climb into the front seat. It doesn't take you long to settle in comfortably; his car smells like stale smoke and the body spray you stole from the mall. You unpack your DS from your bag, hoping to get a head start on the way home when you feel Drew's hand in your hair again.

"Look," He starts, hesitant. "You know I hate to be the asshole—"

You scoff, keeping focus on the bottom screen.

"—But babe, could you please not shut me down in front of Kyvris? It's really embarrassing."

"Yeah, well, it's kind of embarrassing having you try to drool on me in public. Get it?" You're on your way to a fight; you know how it goes. But if you're being perfectly honest, you're starting to get tires. You spend a moment wondering if fighting with your dad would be better or worse than fighting with Drew.

"I don't think I'm asking a whole lot." He frowns "I mean I just got you a couple hundred dollars worth of jewelry." His hand is on your shoulder again. You shrug it off.

"Yeah, that Gamzee gave you money for. Is this even surgical steel?"

"It's the hypoallergenic stuff, that's what the cashier said. And it was expensive. Whatever, the point is, I'm bending over backwards trying to make things work for you, and you just keep shutting me down."

You hate it when he pulls this card; no matter how much you can force it down, there's always a little bit of guilt involved.

"I just want this to work out, okay? And it's not going to unless you're willing to give something back."

You exhale, hating that your breath comes in a shaky blast. "Look, if you want to take back the jewelry that's fine, but I'm still not your tootsie-pop. These things sting like hell and I don't want you chewing on them. I don't think Kyvris gives a damn one way or the other."

There's a frown forming on his lips, and your mind starts racing again. Did you push it too far this time? He's completely silent, impassive, maybe even a bit hurt by your comments. The silence is a bit too unnerving for you.

"…okay? Fine, whatever, you can stay mad but I'm going home. I don't want to deal with this."

His fingers thread through your hair, and then he pulls.

The pain is blinding, whiting out your vision and causing your breath to catch in your throat. Your already sore neck is screaming in protest when he jerks your head back. His hand fists in your hair until you can feel it ripping from your scalp.

"It's not that much to ask for." His voice is quiet, with just the slightest edge. "I just want you to fucking listen to me from time to time. _Get it?_ "

It fucking hurts, but that's not the worst of it. He stares at you, a snarl forming at the edge of his mouth, and your head rattles in throbbing agony when he shakes you once again. You want to go home. Your face is wet and you're not sure how it got that way, but you'd rather it stop because it's making it hard to see and hard to think.

"I asked if you got it." You can't nod. Your jaw seems to be gaping open no matter how much you ask it to close. Your throat is elastic pulled to the breaking point and he doesn't seem to understand that _you can't talk_. Instead you reach across and rub your hand on Drew's knee.

With a sigh he releases you, stroking your hair in a way that you're ashamed to admit is soothing. Your aching scalp relaxes. Your breathing comes a little easier. You realize quickly that something must be very wrong with your throat, as you still can't say a word.

"God, babe… don't make me do that again. You know how much I hate fighting with you." He brushes a thumb along your jawline, and your reflexes are faster than your common sense. Pain blossoms just below your left eye; punishment for pulling away or something equally stupid.

"I said don't make me do that again." Your throat is beyond fucked, but he takes your silence as a yes. The car won't start on the first few tries.

"Motherfucking piece of shit everything. Why can't something work right around here?" He slams his fist into the dashboard and oh god do you want to go home. You don't care how much your dad yells. You'd let him lecture you for hours if it meant you could be anywhere but here.

No, you tell yourself. It's fine. With some effort you might be able to keep it under control all the way to Drew's house. You're not going to let this get you down; it's just not an option anymore. The last thing you can let anyone do is see your weakness. So when Drew takes your hand, brushing his thumb gently over your knuckles, you don't try to pull away. His fingers lace through yours when you struggle with a sob, and you almost wish he would hit you again just to get you to shut your mouth.

You want your Dad. You miss your friends, your real ones. You wonder exactly how badly you managed to fuck up so that all of the people you used to love don't know anything about you anymore. Was it the horrible things you said? The joy you got in provoking people? It must be the same massive defect you have that drove away every mom you've ever known.

You glance to him in silence, and he squeezes your hand and calls you beautiful. You can't bring yourself to smile, but you try. Forgive and forget, after all, because this is all you have left.


	23. Bells for Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

He's sitting outside on the grass when she finds him, picking away at a preheated lunch provided by the cafeteria. He's a waste of a thing, slim and pale, sharp angles and narrow hips and more than a little uncomfortable in his own skin.

He doesn't meet her eyes as she sits, barely making a sound beyond the rustle of grass around her feet.

"Miss Galway, yes?" He's professional even now, covered by a threadbare shirt with a hospital band around his wrist. "Glad to have you here. The nurses gave me a cookie if you want it. I'm afraid I might be allergic."

His pauses are strange and stilted, she notices. His voice is quiet, hardly a murmur, and he thinks so carefully while he strings his words together. It's not at all what she had pictured from his letters. He was always so eloquent on the page.

He smiles to her weakly, offering the extra cookie. She reaches out to take in from him in silence. He's too thin to be picking at his food like that, and taking the last of his lunch away isn't what she really wants to do.

"I always like it better out here," he starts again. "There's places to walk, and the water helps me clear my head. I'm surprised they allow a fountain in a place like this, though."

She nods, watching in silence. The water does nothing for her, but she can understand. This place is quieter than the hospital halls, and has something that might almost resemble privacy were it not for the orderly watching by the door.

He curls into himself, hunched over his knees. "You don't talk much, do you?"

She chews her bite, tasting nothing. "I guess I don't."

He eyes her over the top of his knees, finally abandoning the food he barely touched. She pushes down the instinct to ask him to keep eating. There are more important things to be worrying about right now.

"Does this mean you missed the statistics test last week?"

He freezes, mouth taught and eyes panicked, trying to find some source of recognition. His hesitance gives her confidence, if just a little bit. It only takes one slender finger to sign her name, dotting her "i" with a light flourish too familiar to his eyes.

"…Miss Rogers."

She nods, trying to find her voice. It's not as confident as she would have liked, but nothing about her is at the moment.

"Hi, sweetheart. You can call me Simone if you want." Her heart clenches in her chest as she watches him swallow and withdraw further.

"Simone…what…?" She flinches for a moment, trying to quell the sick nerves threatening to pull her under. He looks so small. He looks so small and she looks smaller, and neither of them have any place to hide.

She reaches out for a moment; personal boundaries are arbitrary and useless to a woman in her profession. They mean even less when so much is at stake, so she ghosts her fingers against his neck. The bruises look so raw under her touch, forming a thick, ugly purple ring around his throat. Even now, after a week of healing, the scars look as if they might awaken at any moment and choke out whatever life remains in him.

He hisses under her touch, feral and starved of food and intimacy. She lingers despite his protest, and in time, he relaxes.

"Adam… why?"

His brows knot before he answers, too serious for a boy of seventeen. "Does it matter why?"

"It does to me."

"…it shouldn't." And her heart feels sick once again.

She moves closer to him, running her hand from his neck down his back. He doesn't resist, or react, or move in the slightest. His eyes only trace a line down her arm, past a bright new hospital bracelet on her wrist, to rest on her nails. Her manicure is chipped and fading, as she doesn't have the tools to keep it clean.

"We missed you, Miss Rogers." He draws his knees in closer.

"Sweetheart…"

"Why didn't you ever come back?"

"...I couldn't." She wishes she were allowed to wear makeup. She wishes she had her hair curler, or her lash curler, or even a shirt with a decent set of sleeves. She can't handle being naked in front of this kid. She wishes she had done it properly the first time, so she wouldn't be here right now to explain why she failed everyone so miserably.

He accepts the answer in silence, refusing to meet her gaze. She moves her hand along his back, hoping he might find some comfort.

"I wish I could have, though. I missed you too." She finds herself moving in to rub his shoulder, and without warning his arms are around her. His fingers are strong against her back, and her confidence builds again.

"I'm so, so sorry you're here…" She whispers. He clings to her and she squeezes back against the ribs that she really shouldn't be able to feel right now.

He's shivering, fisting his hands in her shirt, taller than her by nearly a foot and still very much the child she remembers. She thinks of his letters, scrawled and sweet at first with stories of recess and homework and his parents asking him to choose between a sword and a Beretta, growing into stress about relationships and responsibilities and his nerves that he might end up lonely and frightened for the rest of his life. She listened, she gave advice, but she never did anything more. It wasn't her problem, she had told herself. She wonders for a moment if she is a terrible person.

"I don't want to do this…" His voice shakes so badly that she can barely understand him. "I don't want to let my dads down, or be sick, or be alone anymore. And now I have to tell them where I've been over the past week, and they're going to hate me forever."

"They're not going to hate you, sweetie." She strokes his hair, like Jake used to do for him when he was young.

"I'm never going to be what they want." His shaking gets stronger, punctuated by a heaving sob. "Or what she wants."

"If they don't want you, they're insane." She whispers it into his hair, and he hiccups against her. "Everyone loves you so much."

He has nothing to say, his face pulled tight and tears streaming. She threads her fingers through his hair once more, a sensation frozen in time. It's a strange realization, surreal even, when she finds that despite her line of work she is just as touch-starved as he is.

"And they should love you because you're an amazing kid. I know you're not letting them down." He struggles to catch his breath, pressing his face into her hand while she does her best to wipe the tears before they fall. She swallows once, looking into a pair of desperate grey eyes. He was often upset that they couldn't have been orange or green, that it was just another mark of how he couldn't really be theirs, couldn't make them proud.

His tears slow with time, leaving him gasping for air while she waits. He wipes his eyes once more before speaking.

"Miss Rogers… what are you doing here?" Her thoughts creep in like venom once again, wishing more than ever that she could be cold in the ground and not here explaining herself to one of the people she had abandoned.

"What do you think?" She dodges neatly. He scans her face for answers, and the vain side of her wonders if she'll ever be considered beautiful after this.

"I don't know. You were always so…together." he pauses, rubbing at his neck absentmindedly. "Like no one could ever bring you down. You were just… too cool for that."

Her façade works, she knows it. She wouldn't have a job if it didn't. It's hard to hear him say it out loud, though, that she's been deceiving children just as well as dirty old men.

"A girl has to have her mysteries, sweetheart."

He seems to accept this, and silence falls over the two of them. She traces idle letters in the dirt while he watches, as if to confirm that she really is the person he remembers. She writes out a few sentences for him to read, asking him about his time at school. He presses his lips together in some semblance of a smile, wiping out a few of her letters to correct her spelling. He always was a bit of a wiseass.

Eventually, the written conversation stills. The question still hovers between the two of them, thick and toxic in the air.

_Why are they here?_

She knows why she is here, much to her shame. Once upon a time she had it all figured out. She ruled over the business world on pure talent and instinct, knowing exactly what she was good at and how to choke down her fear to survive. And then for a while, she didn't have to anymore.

It was harder than she thought, going back to living alone. A drink or seven helped. Seven became fourteen, twenty, twenty and a sleeping pill, a knife against her neck, a dare between herself and the misery threatening to crush her. She repeated the pattern every night, waiting until the night when she could push it too far. Every morning she would wake up disappointed.

Yesterday was the biggest disappointment of all.

Her eyes darken enough for him to notice, and he withdraws his hand out of respect. She finds herself missing the touch.

"I don't think I can do it anymore." her voice is so low, it's almost a mumble. He's hesitant to look at her.

"Me neither."

The water rushes beneath them as they sit in silence. She gives a pointed look to his lunch, and he picks at it once more, attempting to stomach a few more bites. Once she seems satisfied, he tosses away the remainder. She is more than happy to finish it for him, still slightly weakened by the loss of fluid and happy to have some of her strength return to her.

Hesitation stops him from leaning over, so she pulls him close to ease his fears. He finds his head in her lap, her hand in his hair.

Her blood is too fast and her nerves feel too much, holding her tense and mechanical against her will. She knows that starting this conversation is a mistake, and yet she worries that if she doesn't,

"Adam, have I ever told you about my family?"

He blinks up at her in surprise. "No. You never really… talked much. About where you were before us, I mean."

She nods in silence, and twists slightly to face the sky. "Mom and Dad aren't worth talking about. I think I had a half sibling at one point too? I'm not sure about that one... but my little sister is the important one."

"What's her name?"

"Lynn. She's just a few years older than you are now." She trails off. He doesn't press her. This is delicate, he knows, and she runs at the first sign of danger.

It does take her a while to start speaking again. When she does, her voice is gentle, more timid than he's ever heard it. "I haven't seen her in almost a decade. She used to really like to sing. She could belt out this one stupid song, you know "True Colors"? Yeah, she'd just repeat it for hours with all the wrong words. I'd scream at her to shut up, but she never would."

His laugh jostles his weight on her legs. "Sounds like Casey."

"Exactly like Casey, except louder. She might have been pretty good with some training." She pauses, inhaling sharply. He waits out of respect.

"When I was sixteen…" She hesitates again, clearing her throat, "when I was sixteen, I was supposed to come right home from school. My mom had clients for me."

"Clients?" He's breaking his silence, her concentration. She won't elaborate, so he just listens.

"But that one day, I couldn't. I ran off into the woods behind the school and hid there until the sun went down. I snuck back into the house when I thought mom would have given up, maybe sent the creep home… but she… she had Lynn…" She hugs herself tightly, and he finds himself lifting onto his palms to get closer to her.

She chokes on her next breath.

"...Lynn ran away after that. I like to think she found someplace better to be."

He doesn't know what to do, with her collapsing into a void around him, disappearing without ever really leaving. His heart aches with fear, and with compassion, and strangely enough with understanding.

"It's not your fault, though."

She smirks, letting out a dry laugh. "Haven't you talked to John lately? Everything is my fault. I shouldn't be responsible for anyone."

Her tone is too bitter, and he flinches. John isn't a subject he wanted to touch on with her. He doesn't know what happened with the two of them, only that it was strange and hurtful and taught Casey to leave him behind.

With careful, practiced control, she regains her composure. She wipes under her eyes out of habit, even though there is no mascara to clean. Within seconds you would never know that she had said anything unusual at all. He stares in slight awe, wishing he could move his face with such precision.

She looks to him, calm save for the crossing of her arms. "Don't look at me like that, sweetie."

Of course, the words alone do absolutely nothing.

"It's not your fault." he starts. "I don't care what John said, or Casey. I don't think they blame you either."

She wishes so badly that she could believe him, but pity makes a liar out of everyone. John hates her, and Casey will never forgive her for leaving. She is alone. Once, she would have been happy that way.

The orderly by the door is moving, deeming them safe enough to leave without supervision. He's gone to round up the other patients, and she knows their time together is drawing to a close. He slides his hand over hers, and she grips it tightly.

"Miss Rogers, I'm supposed to leave tomorrow." His face is stony and rigid, and hers betrays nothing.

"What are you going to do, sweetheart?"

He says nothing, because she knows the answer anyway. He's going to go home, and he's going to try again. He's going to find himself in an empty house, and maybe tomorrow, maybe two weeks from now, maybe years in the future he'll find himself swallowed by those ugly bruises once more, and she'll be left on her own to keep fighting. For a brief moment she finds herself hating John, hating Casey, hating Lynn who would tap outside her bedroom wall to make sure her sister was okay, hating even this boy asking her to feel for him when she knows all it does is hurt.

"You have to wait." She says, surprising even herself.

He blinks up at her. "What?"

"Please." She squeezes his hand "At least wait for me to get out. Stay safe. I'll come find you then."

He rubs at his neck reflexively, hesitant to respond. She wants to beg, to cry and scream and force him to listen to her and survive, but she has her pride to answer to. She keeps calm as ever.

He blinks a bit too rapidly, his face still drawn and hesitant. He pulls his knees closer, hunching smaller as if to avoid her gaze. "I'll try."

"No. You promise me. It's only two weeks."

He barks out what might be a sob, or a cough, or a laugh. His lashes aren't fast enough to keep his tears at bay. "Fine. Two weeks. What happens then?"

"Then you come pick me up and we figure out where things are going." She's almost in control again. Really in control. Maybe if she tries hard enough she won't fuck it up this time. "You can stay in my apartment for a bit if you need. Or else call your dads and tell them you need them to come home."

He shakes his head rapidly, nearly knocking his glasses off his face. "No! I can't tell my Dads! Not yet, anyway…"

"Then wait for me." She smiles, and he's given up pretending that he's not crying. The orderly has returned, and is approaching them quickly. Adam looks nearly desperate, stumbling on his words.

"C-Can I visit after school?"

"Of course, sweetie. I'll be here."

The orderly lays a hand on his shoulder, and he jumps, staring at Simone in fear. She reassures him silently, keeping her smile controlled.

"I'm going to bring my homework, okay? Every day!" She nods to him carefully. He refuses to let go of her hand as he walks, and stares over his shoulder until the hallway blocks his sight.

Simone feels the eyes behind her before the hands get close enough to touch, and knows she has an orderly of her own. Isolation in her room seems like an okay concept right now, and she follows without hesitation. People always seem to want to take something from her, and she hopes she hasn't become so cold that she's incapable of giving it when it's needed.

It's all too exhausting and strange. She needs time to think.


	24. Dearly Beloved

Hi Sweetie,

It's so good to hear from you. Sorry it took me so long to reply, I have to get my mail forwerded from my old address and get settled and everything. I'm glad to hear school is going so well, and I know your Dads are just as proud of you as I am. Are you seriously taking physics in middle school? Your going to have to teach me a thing or two when your done.

Take care,

Simone Rogers

* * *

Hey Sweetheart,

I'm sorry, I really can't come around to visit. I know I haven't been around and I'd like to see you too, but I don't think it's the best idea right now. Please don't let that stop you from writing! You're letters always make my day a lil bit brighter.

I might have to ask a favor, though. Please don't tell you're uncle about this? Or Casey?

I saw you're dad in the debate yesterday, I think he was doing pretty well, or at least he's getting better at keeping his crazy "fight club for kids" polacies under wraps. Were you there with him?

Take care,

Simone Rogers

* * *

Sweetheart,

Are you okay? I know how scary panic attacks can be. You better be getting some rest and staying out of trouble. I know how much Casey means to you, but if she scares you like that again you better give her a piece of your mind!

God you're going to be a freaking genius before the year ends. Are you sure you're okay with all this work though? It sounds like a lot of stress. You need to have some fun, run around, meet a pretty lady you actually like. Or a pretty guy.

Things have been a little strange with me, but the doctor says it's pretty normal to get sad after a breakup like this. I didn't really think it would bother me as much as it does. Go figure.

Either way, it's work as usual. Gotta pay the rent!

Take care,

Simone Rogers

PS: Didn't your dads ever teach you not to laugh at people's spelling?

* * *

Hi Sweetie,

I just wanted to tell you that there's nothing wrong with you at all. Some people just feel a little different about sex than others do. If you don't feel anything for them you don't have to keep trying, or if they're okay with that you can just try for fun, but you sure as hell shouldn't feel broken or insufferable. A lot of people told me I should feel bad about what I'm doing because I don't love my co-stars, but fact is I'm good at having sex and I need to pay the bills. It's just the way things go sometimes.

Anyway, I think you're pretty sufferable. Forget Eric.

Hope your dads are coming home soon so you can tell them all about your SATs and your non-asthma. Tell them to give you an unbelievably giant hug from me. I'm so proud of you.

I'm still doing okay. Roxy's been around here and there and she's been trying to help me get a new place somewhere else.

Take care,

Simone Rogers

* * *

Hey Sweetie,

Is it alright for me to ask if this "friend" is Casey? Never mind, I'm not sure I really want to know.

I wish I knew what to tell you, but people make up they're own minds about what they want to do with they're life. Maybe she'll listen if you talk to her, maybe not. You can try to help, but make sure to take care of yourself too. Don't let this craziness pull you down too.

Send as many pictures as you can! I'd like them to be of you but if you send blue people that's okay too.

Take care,

Simone Rogers

PS: Not sure if this is relevent, but from what I knew Casey adored you.

* * *

Hi Sweetheart,

Sure, it gets lonely around here. I miss you so much you don't even know, and I bet it gets lonely for you without your dads, too. Thanks for being so nice to me, but I don't think it's the sort of thing I should be talking to you about. You're too young to worry about my problems with your uncle.

I do like the blue ink, by the way. Even if you haven't been practicing, you're penmanship is pretty amazing. I'm more than a little jealous.

And oh my god, that June girl is a beauty queen. The two of you look adorable together. Best of luck, sweetie.

Take care,

Simone Rogers

* * *

Hey Sweetheart,

Yeah, June was way too prissy anyway. You're better off.

I should let you know, I'm gonna be changing addresses soon. I'm going to be going across town, someplace a lil bit cheaper. Funny how getting old and cranky can put you out of demand! The director keeps going on about my "new attitude," but I think he's just an ass.

I'm gonna say it again: you're fine. There's nothing wrong with you, I promise. Your a great kid and a great student, and your really gonna be going places in the future. If your partner couldn't see that then he wasn't right for you anyway.

Hope you know that I adore you and I would be more than willing to look at your whole playbill collection. In fact, tell me about your playbill collection beginning to end. June is being ridiculous, everyone loves a sharp dressed man who knows his theater.

Take care,

Simone Rogers

PS: That last letter better not have smelled like cigerettes. I'm really hoping that was a figmant of my imagination.

* * *

Sweetie,

I'm definately gonna regret sending this out in the morning but Jesus Christ I miss you and John and Casey this place is so freakin horrable and I can't even get a job I don't want this anymore. Where the hell is Roxy? Wish there was a piano somewhere.

Hey Mr. Mailman I'll suck you're dick if you loose this one. Just leave it under the truck.

Still think I would be a good mom?

Simone

* * *

Hi Sweetie,

God, I'm sorry about that, I didn't mean to scare you. Really, I'm okay. It's nothing I haven't dealt with before. I wasn't thinking all that clear when I sent the letter, that's all.

I definitely smelled cigarettes on your response. If I see you before you quit you better believe I'll knock some sense into you. Don't you know they give you wrinkles?

Seriously, don't worry about me. Or if you do, channel it into sparring. I know your dads would be glad to see you get angry. Well, I think they'd be glad to see you in general. I'm pretty sure you're the best kid they could ask for.

Speaking of anger, I'm afraid to ask about Casey… do you know if she's okay?

Take care and love forever,

Simone Rogers

* * *

Hey there sweetie,

I finally landed a new job! It's not exactly as legit as the others, but it's more than enough money to get by. I might be part of another feature length picture!

I'm sorry things aren't going well. She'll start talking to you again eventually, but in the meantime I hope you can find other ways to be happy and some people who treat you right.

I can't believe you're going to be out of school soon. You'll have to tell me all about college life, and dorms, and whatever genius things you like to talk about out there. Hopefully I'll be able to keep up.

Take care,

Simone Rogers

* * *

~~Sweetie,~~

~~please help i dont~~

* * *

Hey Sweetie,

I hope you know that you're a great friend to have. Take care of yourself, because you're gonna be amazing one day. What am I saying, you're amazing already.

Take care and love you higher than the sky,

Simone Rogers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I read Letters from Zedelghem and like to pretend I'll be that good one day.


	25. Under the Gun

==>

The spotlight's glare is too bright for him and, as he does at the beginning of every event, he feels a pang of longing for his shades. His audience sits across from him, with Jake in front throwing out a thumbs up and a toothy grin. He manages a slight nod back, ignoring the brightness of the room and the wrongness of his exposed face.

He knows he needs to do this, that publicity is vital, and yet Dirk can't shake the feeling that there's somewhere more important for him to be.

==>

She knew after the first missed visit that there was going to be trouble. He had promised, but an hour's visit a day was hardly enough to keep him out of his own head. So she quells the sting of betrayal and signs the hospital release papers with yet another fake name. It's all she can do to keep composed.

He's worn down and scrawny when he comes out, weakened from days of vomiting up an overdose. He won't meet her eyes, so she guides him to the car in silence.

Silence.

It's not really uncomfortable, but nowhere near that warmth that they knew during his visits. He asks her to drop him off at home, and she agrees. She doesn't dare turn on the radio for fear of what music might put between them, or what unwanted train of thought it might start.

They pull up in the driveway of the Strider-English house, empty once again due to some political rally hundreds of miles away. He sighs, leaving the car with heavy shoulders, and finds himself only slightly surprised when she follows.

"You aren't going home?"

She shakes her head, following him to the door. "No. I rented a couple of movies to watch, and your TV has to be nicer than mine."

His mouth twitches at the corners, and he opens the door to let her in.

==>

She proves to be a bit more of a handful as a roommate than he anticipated; sleeping on the couch, frequently drunk, and utterly unpredictable. He's never sure when she'll be home from work, what her mood will be like, when he'll be able to get his work done. Their new apartment has much less space than his house, and he keeps tripping over her junk. It's completely infuriating. There's not a doubt in his mind that this will affect his grades.

Granted, he's just started school and is already months ahead on his coursework, but there is always a chance that he will fall behind. He needs to focus.

It doesn't take long for her to call him on this. The endless repetition of number crunching isn't making him happy; the number of theater productions that have come and gone without his attendance is far higher than it should be. And that's to say nothing of his sleepless nights and racing heartbeat. He won't listen, but she doesn't stop trying. She waits up and she blasts her music, and she slowly, slowly drives him to complete insanity. When he breaks, drunkenly singing and laughing by her side and while she musses his hair, he wonders why he fought it so hard earlier.

==>

After all the misguided confidence she shows the world, he finds her short breaks of composure terrifying.

She's dead silent in front of the mirror, her mascara clumped under her eyes. There is no music playing, no television, no noise to be found at all. When he sinks to her side, she sighs and chooses a different shade of lipstick.

Her after work moods have been low lately, in a way they never were when he was younger. Fewer and fewer directors are willing to work with someone so "unstable," and she can no longer afford to be choosy with her jobs. She's growing weary of the notoriety and the physical toll it takes, but finding employment in anything else is such a challenge.

"What," She muses to a color labeled Show Orchid. "Am I going to put on a resume?"

He doesn't know, not really, but her facade is cracking and a forceful shatter of it would destroy her.

==>

Jake's tried calling the house three times on the way home, so Dirk isn't sure why he's surprised to find it empty. Sure, someone probably should have mentioned that Adam would be moving out, but he doesn't know if he'd have taken the call anyway. Jake checks around, finding a little bit of information from Adam's new roommate, and they pick up sushi on the way to his new apartment.

Adam picks at his food as they talk, only glancing at them when he has to. Jake rambles for hours about nothing and everything, running tangents off every story he begins but never ends. The campaign has been going very well, apparently in no small part due to Adam's handling of things on the home front, and Jake is able to hand over a stack of reply letters that he kept forgetting to mail. He seems far too thrilled to congratulate Adam in person on his excellent work.

Dirk watches across the table in stony silence. He isn't all that hungry either.

They leave with enthusiastic hugs goodbye, Dirk lingering a bit longer with an affectionate hair ruffle for his son. Adam leans into his hand with a smile, and he wonders how long the kid has been waiting for this.

Simone sighs lightly as the door clicks shut. "Are you ever going to tell them, sweetie?"

There's silence behind the door. After five minutes of waiting, Dirk leaves.

==>

"So, Miss… Galway? That's what the doctor called you, right?"

She nods, sliding down into the sofa with her feet up on the coffee table. Monday night is documentary night, and it's very rare for him to interrupt the narration for any reason. She wonders just how long this question has been bothering him for.

"Yeah, that's my given name. Fran Galway, seductress extraordinaire. Not giving anyone any boners, is it?"

He shrugs. "It's a name. Why hide it for so long?"

"I wasn't really hiding it," she lies, even though there doesn't seem much point to it anymore. "It's just not a name I like. Dad gave it to me before he left, and keeping the name of someone I barely know just seemed… silly. So I found one I liked better."

He doesn't react, and she grows a little bit suspicious. "You're not going to start calling me that, are you?"

"Of course not." He pauses, listening to an important revelation about the migration of the tinkerbulls. "You've always been Miss Rogers."

She smiles, nudging his foot with her own. He's been hogging the popcorn, and as nice as it is to see him eating she's pretty hungry too.

==>

The whole house reeks of cigarettes, and she can't deal with it anymore.

"If you want to keep trying to destroy your lungs can you at least do it outside? The living room smells like a biker bar…"

There's a cloud drifting out from his study, and she follows it to find an ashtray packed to the brim. He's busy lighting what looks like his twentieth cigarette today while he finishes his research paper.

"Just one more. As soon as I'm finished with this I'll be done. Promise."

"You have to know by now that these things aren't actually helping you relax." She empties the ashtray into the wastebasket near his feet. "If anything they keep you up at night. And you're already up most of the night without their help."

His brows knot, but otherwise he gives no sign that he's heard anything.

"Ignoring your roommate isn't very gentlemanly, sweetie. You're still months ahead on your schoolwork, and I'm going to break out Jack, Jim, and Jose if you don't cut this out. You're going to give yourself cancer."

"Maybe I wouldn't mind cancer."

Her first impulse is to slap him, but her self-control is strong and her understanding is stronger. Instead she pulls up the chair next to him, and she waits. She'll spend the night there if she has to, because she wouldn't really know what to do without him.

True to his word, he finishes the last cigarette and presses play on their stereo. The rest of their night is carefree.

==>

Calling John was a mistake, Dirk realizes. That family has got a one-way ticket to hell and it was a pretty big lapse of judgement to think they'd help him on the way down.

All he wanted was a little bit of information. A hint as to what big giant secret his son was keeping from him, something that wouldn't have made it into one of his thousand letters. What he got was very close to a nervous breakdown.

"She won't _talk_ to me!" John shouted, hardly allowing him a minute to think. "She comes home and just sits with me, she gets this _look_ on her face if I have to go, but _she won't tell me what's going on!"_

Yeah, well that makes two of them.

==>

He's been gone for a few days, and he misses her more than he thought. Seeing his parents was good this time; Ninja Dad was so much nicer than usual. He didn't insist on a sparring match with Brobot, going so far as to stop Adventure Dad before he could get it battle ready. Still, he missed his own bed and his roommate, and was ready for another Monday on the sofa.

As soon as he opens the door, he regrets ever leaving.

"Miss Rogers?!"

The house is a mess, with vomit on the carpet and blood on the sofa. There's a smashed bottle of tequila in the kitchen, and he can follow the drops of blood to their stopping point in the bathroom.

She's in worse condition than he thinks he's ever seen, drunk out of her mind with the broken bottle embedded deep into her forearm. She smiles at him, blinking through her stupor.

"Honey, you're home…"

He's at her side in seconds, though he doesn't know whether it would be best to lift her or let her be. The cuts aren't deep (he breathes a sigh of relief) but there's still the matter of her shaking.

"I missed you…" She smiles. "Did you have to play an encore?"

He's shaking nearly as hard as she is; this is wrong, he's just a kid, how on earth is he going to pull her through this? Somehow, through all his shaking and tears, he's together long enough to brush the sweat-plastered hair from her eyes.

"Miss Rogers," he wheezes; he doesn't have the air to speak. After a breath on his inhaler, he tries again.

"Miss Rogers, you're hurt, I need to see your arm."

Her blinking has gotten slower, and he wants to panic again. Slowly, carefully, she raises her arm to his hand.

"It doesn't hurt, honey. Nothing hurts if you don't let it."

She shakes once more, and he pulls her into his arms. The ambulance arrives fifteen minutes later than he would have liked, and both his Dad's numbers dial straight to voicemail.

==>

The next day is not easy, not for anyone. She managed to pass off the excuse that she had drank too much to her producers; keeping up a wild party-girl image is much easier than the media shitstorm of the truth. He shivered and cried and smoked half a cigarette before crushing it under his foot. Jake called back full of heartfelt apologies, excuses that they were discussing a new tax policy and phones weren't allowed, and Adam tried very hard to be understanding. He wasn't allowed to take her home for hours. Looking at her face, he wonders if they still let her out too soon.

She sits on the other end of the couch, hands folded in her lap. When he speaks, there is firmness to his voice that she's never heard.

"We can't keep going like this, can we?"

She sighs, shifting her wounded arm out of view. "Probably not."

His stare is unnerving to her, almost judging (though she knows he would never do such a thing). They've missed their Monday, so turning on the TV now would be weird, but maybe she could break out the radio and they could dance again.

"Miss Rogers, I…" He pauses to swallow. "I don't really know how to go about saying this without sounding like the world's biggest hypocrite. Perhaps I shouldn't try."

"Go ahead. I think you've earned the right to be a—"

"You can't die." He interjects, stopping suddenly as if trying to retract his words.

"…I'm sorry?"

"Forgive my melodrama, but it's true. You can't. I don't know what to do on my own. I feel like…" He trails off, unable to finish his train of thought. How do you explain that you love someone without romance? Friend gets tossed around all the time, a person who you go to the movies with on weekends. Simone isn't someone he goes to see movies with on weekends.

She hesitates, watching the tears form in his eyes. It only takes a moment for her to wipe them away.

"I won't. I really wasn't trying to, at least."

"Do you mean that?"

"Absolutely."

He stares her down, checking her face for any sign she might be lying. Once satisfied, he pulls out a notebook from his bag. She laughs and rolls her eyes, but he is serious, and soon enough the two of them have scribbled the night away.

* * *

**ROOMMATE AGREEMENT:**

**To be notarized and considered a legally binding contract.**

**RULES:**

**1\. Suicide is never an option.**

**2\. Suicide** _**is never an option.** _

**3\. As long as this contract stands, Adam A. H. Strider English will be either making a serious attempt or succeeding at quitting smoking.**

**4\. As long as this contract stands, Simone Fran Galway Rogers will never touch alcohol without supervision.**

**5\. Monday night is TV night.**

**6\. Keep the office clean.**

**7\. Adam A. H. Strider English will get at least five hours of sleep every night.**

**8\. And is not allowed to be more than three months ahead of his coursework.**

**9\. Simone Fran Galway Rogers will only accept the jobs that she wants to, and any trouble paying bills will be covered with Strider-English funding.**

**10\. Love your roommate. They are your lifeline.**

**Hereby agreed to by the undersigned:**

Simone Fran Galway Rogers

Adam A. H. Strider English


	26. Where is My Mind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I can't stress how much reader discretion is advised on this one. Drug use, domestic violence, gaslighting, rape, control.

**== > Be Casey**

The clock is moving far too slowly, sideways maybe, backwards you're sure, past the salvia packed in your bong and the screeching pain in your head. Drew offered to share, and you know by now that turning down his offers doesn't end well. He doesn't like rejection, he doesn't like back talk, he doesn't like you implying that you might not need him for anything. If any of that is enough to make him angry, he doesn't like you either.

There's a body somewhere beyond the clock. It's full of teeth and hair and eyes, things you vaguely wish could form the proper arrangement to be a face. The teeth are the closest to you. They look completely ridiculous, but you don't have the breath to laugh.

A few weeks ago, you mentioned that you weren't happy anymore. That his bad moods were too much for you to handle. The look on his face broke your heart. He was perfect afterwards, rubbing your shoulders, taking you out, brushing your hair out of your eyes and telling you that he loved you. He asked if you might be a little nicer to him, to make sure he wouldn't lose control again.

"It hurts me, Casey, what you make me do. Please. I don't want to be like that again."

There's a darkness spreading through the too-bright room; the walls expand as your vision collapses. You can't shake the feeling that there is somewhere better for you to be, somewhere more important, but your limbs are leaden and molded to the comforter. The stress of moving is too much. The pain is gone, faded into quiet static, blue what once was red.

It took time for your friends to start noticing, commenting that Drew talks over you in conversation or that you flinch when someone pokes your stomach. One day Zack sat you down to ask you about it. You kept your mouth shut, because it would be so hard to explain without making yourself seem unbearably pathetic. Maybe you are pathetic, but Zack doesn't need to know that.

The next two days, Zack wasn't in school. You saw him on the third day, bruised and winded, and he brushed past you when you said hello. After that, no one asked you about anything.

So you sit here, the walls expanding as you collapse, and you wait for his grip on your neck to release. He'll give you a ride home when he's gotten bored.

==>

You scan the front of your school's driveway, trying to remember what bus might take you home. You haven't ever actually been on it, you have no idea what number it might be, but it would be really nice to figure it out for once. Getting straight home to your own bed sounds amazing.

Of course, same as every other day, you can't figure it out. The mass exodus of students blocks your sight. Your friends gather one by one, laughing and joking and passing cigarettes, waiting for their ride to show up. You briefly wonder if any of them feel the same way you do, resenting the way he twists them for his benefit and yet still somehow craving his approval. Everyone, even Zack, still waits for him outside.

Drew pulls up, the thumping bass coming to a halt as he parks.

"Hey Babe. Missed you."

"Me too." You lie. Or maybe not.

He grabs you by the waist, pulling you into a hug that feels more like grotesque pressure of limbs on limbs than any sign of affection. "You want to see Gamz today? I'm looking to make some extra cash and I heard he's got a wicked new stash in." You're surprisingly okay with seeing Gamzee. His shit is always good, and he keeps Drew in a fantastic mood.

You drive across town to drop Kyvris off first. Adam's house is dark when you pass it, and there are no cars in the driveway. You hope that wherever he is, he's doing better than you are.

==>

There isn't a whole lot in your situation to look forward to, but you manage to figure out the perks. Drew's range rover is set up with a sweet stereo and you never have to pay him back for gas. You try to relax and enjoy the music for a while, letting go of your nerves with a sigh. So what if you're waiting for a collection from a dangerous and possibly unstable juggalo? It's not like you have to go in there and deal with Gamzee yourself. No, even Drew admits that Gamzee's fascination with you is weird.

He returns to the car with a backpack heavier than he started with, and he smirks.

"Presents." He dumps a bag into your hands. "Gamzee's orders. Dunno what it is, but he's got a soft spot for you."

You examine the bag a bit more carefully, noting five little pills smiling back at you. Literally smiling. Creepy motherfucker or not, you think you owe him one.

==>

Dinner is on the table when you get home, but your Dad has his coat on. He's probably got a show to play tonight, something you forgot about by being a shitty daughter. He might even be late by now, but have waited for you to come home to say goodbye.

"Hey Case. There's juice in the fridge if you want it. I shouldn't be home too late." He moves as if he wanted to hug you but thought better of it. For a split second, you hate him with every fiber in your being.

"Dad…?"

He stops immediately. "Yeah?"

This is stupid. You can't be mad him for being gone when you're the one who's never home. It would be horrible for you to ask him to stay now. He's got work to do. You should be able to clean up your own messes, anyway.

"Good luck."

His smile is anxious and weak, but he's got a deadline to make.

==>

Your left cheek is stinging, and you know this one was hard enough to bruise. He might be getting bolder, since no one would dare ask you about it anyway. None of your friends will talk to you about anything at length; they know you're not the same person you used to be. You hear them talk sometimes, when they think you're not around. They call you a fuck up.

He's got a bag of ice and a kiss for you, and another apology that you try your best to believe. His touch is gentle, testing the pressure it might take to cause you pain.

"…I want to go home." You hate the whine in your voice, and you know what the answer is going to be anyway.

"I'm so sorry, babe. Just let me make it up to you and then I'll give you a ride."

You know what comes next, because it's the same as last week, and then a month ago, and three times over that weekend you spent with him. You're relieved to feel the push of the pills in your pocket, because you need something to make this a little easier. His kisses turn from gentle notes of apology into something deeper, his tongue reaching to play with your lower lip. He tugs at your skin so, so gently, and in time you reach your hand up to his neck. If you play along, it might not be so bad this time.

He rolls you to your stomach and his hand pulls at your jeans, and you shove a smiling tab into your mouth as discreetly as you can. It doesn't take long for colors to become brighter, and the feel of soft sheets against your skin is so comforting you could live in them forever.

You wrap yourself in that comfort, and for a little while there is nothing else that matters.

==>

It's dark when you finally get home. Dark and quiet. You're very much okay with this; for every part of you that wants to hug your father, a louder part screams at you to hide and go to sleep. Your knee doesn't seem to want to support your weight, and your wrist is far sorer than you thought it would be. Forgetting about all this will be a lot easier in bed.

Stairs are tricky, though. Someone should have warned you about that. You catch yourself before you fall too far, but the noise draws some attention.

"Casey?"

You don't know if you're more relieved or upset to hear your dad's footsteps approaching. He rounds the corner, stress showing in fine lines around his face. You shake out your hair, hoping enough of it covers your bruise to keep it secret.

"Hey Caseadoodle. You coming down for dinner?"

"Not tonight. I'm tired." He fakes an unconvincing smile, one that makes you hate yourself a bit more. You don't want him unhappy. You just want to be left alone and feel nothing.

He steps closer, and you fight the urge to retreat. You might be able to tell him. You want him to help, to hold you like he did when you scraped your knees and show you, in his infinite adult wisdom, how to get out of this hole you're digging.

_Zack dodges when she approaches, covering his face with one hand. She can see the sick purple and green blossoming under his fingers, and he eyes her with hate.  
_

_It's her fault. Having friends means having friends hurt._

You're dizzy. Maybe it's the change in altitude, maybe it's you coming down from a high without having eaten. After taking a moment to steady yourself, you find your way back up the stairs.

Your dad is still behind you. He's watching close, and you realize you have to work to stay upright. You try to move as normally as you can, ignoring the pain in your knees and your wrist as you grip the railing. Three steps is all you have. Your dad manages to catch you as your knee gives way.

_The sheets feel cool and soft under her stomach, and she presses her cheek against them to savor it. The smell of sweat and salt is sickening, the touch of her hair and her hands, the clock spinning a bit too slowly.  
_

_She moves to get more comfortable, and her wrist crunches under an iron grip._

For a split second, you wish your Dad had just let you fall. But he holds you, steady and stable and incredibly painful against your arm, before lifting you up the rest of the stairs.

"I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can." He doesn't look at you. "Humor me for a little while?"

It's safe. In fact, it's the safest you've felt in months. You can only hope that he's not looking, because you don't know how long you can stop yourself from crying. Maybe you could ask to stay with Mom for a while, just to spare everyone the embarrassment.

Your dad sets you down on the bed, trying his best to catch your eyes. He gets you a blanket and a glass of water and even digs CK out from the very top of your dresser before you finally swat his hands away.

He's just trying to help you. You want him to be able to help you. You don't know what your malfunction is anymore.

His eyes are red and bleary as he looks at you, but you don't know what you can say. It's a relief when he finally leaves. With a little effort you manage to dig out the pack of cloves in your pocket, but you find them completely useless. You don't know how to work a lighter with your left hand.

==>

You wake in the morning to a note on your bedside table.

_Daughter_

_If you are reading this, it means you didn't sneak out in the night. I am so, so proud of you._

_I don't know what has been happening between us lately. I don't know what's been happening in your life either. But you should know, I will always be here if you need me. I hope that if you aren't talking to me, you are at least talking to someone._

_I love you._

_-Dad_

It takes you a good ten minutes to calm down your crying, and by then the note is little more than a waterlogged scrap. Your legs move like jelly as you swing them over your bed, and you wonder how many more days like this you can handle.

There's only eight months left until you graduate. Once you're out of school, Drew will forget about you. He'll move on to someone else, and maybe you can go to college and everything will be better. Maybe you'll call Adam and give him that apology you owe, and hope that you can be close again. Maybe you'll make some new friends, people who aren't drugged up assholes or self-absorbed psychopaths. Maybe you'll find a decent job and have your own apartment, and take your Dad and leave everything else behind.

Eight months. 242 days of minimizing casualties, and then you can turn around everything. But until then, you'll storm downstairs, throw on your boots, and leave without saying goodbye.


	27. It's Not Like a Movie

**== > Be Simone**

"Hey, sweetie," your voice cuts easily over the hum of Adam's laptop, breaking your own rule of silence before morning coffee. "Have you thought at all about what you're doing after school?"

"Studying." Wiseass.

"I meant after you graduate. What do you want to do once you're out of college?"

"I have a job." He never looks away from the screen, taking in the information on weaponry his Dad had sent him. "I'll do accounting for the Strider campaign, like always."

You could roll your eyes right now; the kid has a stack of graduate-level syllabi fifty pages high and all he wants to do is follow Dirk's lead. "I guess. I was just thinking, with all this engineering stuff you're doing for school, it seems kind of a waste not to use it."

He shrugs. "It's not really for anything. I just like to be well-rounded."

"Right." You've never known anyone to stay up at all hours of the night tinkering with his father's Beretta just to be "well-rounded." In fact, you've never known anyone to tinker with his father's Beretta.

"You know, there are a lot of opportunities out east or overseas for someone with an engineering degree. You could do just about anything you wanted."

He glances up quickly, just long enough for you to know you have his attention. "How do you know all this?"

"Sweetie, you don't sleep with as many businessmen as I do without learning a few things. Aren't you taking biology too? That's something you could do if you just wanted to move to the city…"

"I don't think I like biology very much." He squirms. "There's a lot of unpleasant lab work and it just doesn't seem quite sterile enough… it doesn't matter anyway. I'm working for Dad."

"Right. Sorry." You nudge him with your foot as you pass, having to at least fix your mascara before facing the day. It's already closer to lunch than breakfast; you both somehow managed to sleep in. The smell of cigarettes is drowning in the smell of microwaved bacon, and you're pleased to find that Adam hasn't left any on his plate for you to pick at.

You settle in next to him, nosing over his shoulder at his designs. "Maybe I'm just getting antsy."

"What do you mean antsy?"

"I…" It takes you a minute to think. "Sweetie, do you ever think staying here is the problem? I mean, after everything that's happened, it might just be time to move on."

"You want to run." His face tightens. Perhaps he knows you a little too well.

"Don't knock running, sweetie. Running is a very good way to survive."

"Miss Rogers," He closes his laptop. "I'm just not sure that moving is really going to change anything. And there are some good things that happened here, too."

"Moving changes everything, trust me. You have someplace new to go, and you can choose to be anyone you want. It'll be great." Sentimentality isn't a luxury you afford yourself very often. Six months down in a troll-centric end of San Fernando helped your career more than you would like to admit, but you left it behind with ease. Another nine in the Mariana Islands was good for rejuvenating. From there you followed a lead on Lynn Galway to the far and freezing north, but you gave up when the trail ran cold. You made your way sporadically back down, settling nowhere, and somehow landed yourself in the suburbs with John Egbert and a massive amount of heartbreak.

You've stayed here too long already. It can hardly be called running if you've been stuck for nearly a decade.

Adam seems almost as lost in thought as you are, but not half as pleased. You wonder if sentimentality is really something you really want to rob him of. You nudge him with your foot once more.

"Hey. You don't have to make any decisions right now."

"…The last time I was on a plane," he shivers slightly, causing his voice to falter. "Was before Dad and Dad adopted me. The attendants had to tranquilize me so that I could start breathing normally after my panic attacks set in. I haven't really been anywhere since then."

"It's fine if you're scared—"

"I'm terrified beyond belief, Miss Rogers, but it's more than that. This is my home."

You have to pause, holding down your knee-jerk disgust at the word. Home for you is something horrifying, something you've struggled to get away from for your entire life. That he would want to stay near his home is a completely foreign concept to you.

"You would miss it here? Even after everything…?"

"I… there's a lot I would miss. Aunt Jane's bakery, for one, and the community college has a bike path that no one ever seems to use. I would miss walking there."

"We can move somewhere with bike paths." This seems obvious to you, but you're not one to judge. "Empty ones. We might even be able to stay closer to your Dads."

"Dad and Dad move all the time, I'd have no idea where to go. And what if it's someplace I'd have to drive to?"

"I'll teach you to drive. It can't be any harder than mechanical engineering."

"I... maybe." He squirms again. It takes a moment of quiet and a comforting rub on his shoulder to get him to speak again.

"I know you're probably right, there's not a lot left for me here. I just…" He pauses, taking a moment to swallow his nerves. "…I would miss Casey."

You don't quite know what to say to that. Thankfully, he continues.

"Is that foolish? She's avoided me for so long, I hardly see her beyond a glance on the sidewalk, but… I mean, I would still miss that glance. She's… When I was first adopted, I was too scared to leave my room for a week. She came by and passed me letters under the door, saying hi and that she hoped we could be friends."

He collapses over his knees. "I don't know how everything changed so much."

You wish you had an answer for him, something beyond "people change, and sometimes they become awful." You wish you had something to comfort yourself, even, to help you think that the little girl you knew might turn into the beautiful and worthwhile adult she should be. You think and think, but no words come to mind.

He sighs. "It is really foolish, isn't it? I know, you don't have to say so…"

"No, sweetie." You start, leaning over to rub his back. "It's not foolish. She's a big part of your life."

"Was. She was a big part of my life. She hasn't been around in… I don't know how long." He leans gently into your side. "Miss Rogers, I think something is wrong."

Your stomach knots into itself. Of course something is wrong, but that doesn't mean he can fix it.

"I mean, I knew her very well. Or at least, I like to think I did. She was terrified of not being loved, but now it seems like her only goal is to make everyone hate her. She's not… she wasn't cold like this. Especially not to her father."

"I know she wasn't." You draw him a little closer, and he curls into your side. "She's unhappy."

"Exactly!" He's energetic, suddenly, sitting up from your side in exasperation. "Her father keeps calling me, wondering where she is, what she's up to, if she's safe or not… but she doesn't seem to even notice what she's doing to him! There has to be something that can be done to make her listen. Maybe if he—"

"Adam." He's starting to spiral, and you don't want to figure out where that leads. "You can't be doing this. You just got out of the hospital, I need you to focus on you for a little bit, okay?"

"I know, but she's—"

"She's got to want your help before you can give it. It doesn't work otherwise."

"But Miss Rogers…"

"Stop." He finally does, turning to look at you with tired eyes. You have to make sure he's listening before you continue.

"Sweetie… you miss her. I get it, really, I do. But it might be time to let her go." You move to rub his back, and for the first time ever he jerks away from you. He stares you down in a heated battle, silent except for the wheeze of his breathing. It isn't until he bites his lower lip that you realize just how terrified he really is.

"Hey." You try to calm him again, to undo the damage. "It's going to be fine, I promise. We'll have fun. You have lots of time to figure out what you want to do, and I'll be here either way."

He's still tense, but at least he allows you to take his hand. His fingers are freezing, but they squeeze back lightly over yours.

"Miss Rogers…" He's so quiet you have to strain to hear him. "I am frightened of nearly everything in existence. So when I tell you that the thought of letting her go scares me more than anything, you will understand the gravity of what I am trying to say."

You do understand, and your heart sinks. But what can you say? What can you do to stop him from tying his happiness to someone else's, when that someone else might have already given up on him?

He steels himself against your silence, collecting his coat and dragging a pair of shoes out of the closet.

"Where are you going?"

"To find the Egberts." He states, his voice surprisingly firm despite it's shaking. "You can come too, if you want."

"I…." You really could. It would be that simple. You could just show up and apologize and who knows what might happen after that?

His face is blank. "Right. I didn't think so."

"Hold on just one second, before you start judging me or whatever you're about to do." You cross your arms tightly, taking some comfort in the pressure of it. "I think we can cut a deal here."

"I'm listening." He mumbles.

"You get to go after Casey. Talk to her, see what happens. Maybe she'll listen this time… I hope she listens this time." Your grip tightens around your elbows. "But if she doesn't… then you come back and start looking with me. Don't let her take you down with her."

His mouth tightens. "Could you really forget them so easily?"

"Who I remember and who I forget is my business. Now promise me."

He stares straight ahead, disgusted, still refusing to look at you. That's okay. You can take it, as long as it keeps him safe.

After what feels like an eternity, he sighs. "Fine."

"Good. And good luck, sweetie."

He seems to rumble at you, groaning and wheezing like a broken engine but at least willing to face you for a while. You straighten his tie for him, letting him stare you down in silence. He looks so much better than he did just a few months ago, fuller, darker, with the hollow circles fading from under his eyes. If he keeps this progress up, he could have such an amazing future to look forward to.

If you weren't looking so closely, you might have missed that tremble in his lower lip. Before you have a chance to say anything about it, he's gone.


	28. The Receiving End Of It All

**== > Be Adam**

You don't think you've seen anyone look out of place in their own bedroom before, but there she is, greyscale against her pastel walls. She's got a sweater on, her shoulders hunched and a vacant, dead stare on her face. Try as you might, you can't seem to keep her attention. She's shaved part of her head since the last time you've seen her, with her short blonde hair sweeping over to the side. You kind of want to yank that cigarette out of her mouth before she sets her bangs on fire.

It takes a few minutes before she gives up her feigned ignorance, forced to acknowledge your presence.

"The fuck do you want?" Her eyes are bitter, and her lipstick leaves a thick black smudge along her fingers.

You don't know at this point. You didn't really think this through at all. But you can't just walk away, not when you see the hint of Casey Egbert hidden beneath two inches of eyeliner and a snarl.

"I just wanted to talk."

She laughs without humor. "About what?"

"About you."

You can practically feel her growl, dragging deep on her cigarette before letting the smoke hiss free between her teeth. Her mouth twists into a half-smirk, and you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. She must think she looks so terribly badass. You just wonder when she decided it was attractive to impersonate feral animals.

"Why?" Her eyes meet yours, and she manages her best glare. She looks like a stubborn, spoiled child, two years younger, nearly a foot shorter, and ready to throw a tantrum at any second. Trying to keep the tantrum under control is the important thing. You're not here to fight.

"I just..." That lump in your throat won't move. "Look. I don't really know what's going on with you. Which is fine, if you don't want to be friends anymore. I guess I just want to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine." Her shoulders slump.

"Good, I'm glad to hear-"

"Alright, great catch up time, should we call it a day?" She doesn't seem to be waiting for an answer, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. In a fit of adrenaline you take her cigarette for a drag. It's cheap, and you finish it in two breaths before crushing it into her makeshift ashtray.

"Adam, what the hell?!" Her voice is rising. You just have to control that damn shaking in your fingertips and try to pretend you aren't scared shitless right now.

"Casey… why are you doing this?" The smoke still tastes bitter and wonderful, and you try to focus on it instead of the vein pulsing next to her temple.

She shifts her foot, kicking at the ground with false bravado.

"I'm not doing anything except trying to go out. And you're in my way." She's not meeting your eyes anymore. She's pissed and curled in to be even smaller than she usually is, and you're about ready to shake her and tell her to stop lying to you. There's no way the Casey you knew could ever actually want to be this person.

"Look," She snarls. "If you're here to give me another lecture, I've heard it all from my Dad already. You can save your breath. Don't want you wasting your inhaler on me."

"Hey—"

"Just fuck off."

She hits low when she's angry, and for a moment you hate Casey Egbert almost as much as she seems to hate you. You stare her down as best you can with your chest aching; she twists her mouth into an ugly snarl and stares right back.

And then her gaze falters. She kicks at the floor lightly.

"Sorry. That was mean." she mumbles, glancing up at you quickly before staring back at the ground. There is a very thin line between hate and hopeless adoration, and you could knot it and use it as a noose.

"I miss you."

She snorts at that, looking everywhere in the room except at your face.

"I'm right here, dude. Haven't gone anywhere. I'm supposed to meet Gamzee in a bit, though, so if you'll excuse me…" her fingers are grasping for another cigarette in her pocket, and you notice something you wish you hadn't.

It's reflexive, taking her wrist, left over from a time when she let you hold her hand when you crossed the street. Her skin is stretched tight over swelling, and there is a stiffness under your fingers that shouldn't be there.

She rips away from you, eyes still stuck on the floor.

"Casey?"

She glances at you again. "Don't touch it, that motherfuckin' hurts."

"That's a handprint."

"It's a bruise. Bet you're great at those ink-blot tests, though. Does this one look like a mother grub?" Her lips shake when she tries to smirk, and part of you wishes you had left before this conversation started. Miss Rogers was right, you're going somewhere dangerous and you're not sure you're fully equipped to handle it.

You have to keep going now, though. Even if she yells. Even if you're terrified. Something is seriously wrong here and you need her to tell you what.

She's managing a glare again, turned to the floor as if she could will it to catch fire. "It's none of your business, so leave me the motherfuck alone."

"Please stop saying motherfuck."

"Motherfuck."

"Casey…"

"MOTHERFUCK MOTHERFUCK MOTHERFUCK NOW GET OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKIN' FACE!"

That noose of yours is always getting tighter.

She's running to find her hoodie, left hanging behind her desk piled with forgotten homework and dusty textbooks. You wrap your hands around your elbows, hoping it will be enough to disguise the shaking you can no longer control.

"You sound like Dave." She freezes as soon as the words are out of your mouth, and you wonder if you might have made a mistake.

The book whizzes about five feet to your left, slamming into the wall behind you with enough force to make you wince. You have no idea if she was aiming for you or not, and she's not giving you any indication.

"…I'm not like him. Not even a motherfuckin' little."

She's exactly like him, but you'll keep your mouth shut about that from now on.

"You need to get out." she sneers. You shake your head.

"I'm not… I'm not leaving."

She's quiet, her breath coming in snarls and her eyes strangely bright. It takes you a moment to realize that she's holding back tears.

In time, she speaks again. She's used up all her screaming and seems to only have a murmur left.

"You need to keep away from me or there will be some motherfucking trouble." She closes her hand around her swollen wrist, rubbing gently. Your reflexes kick in again, and her hand is in yours before you have the chance to think better of it.

"Leave it alone. You'll make it worse if you keep touching it."

Her throat moves with a tense exhale. With her so close, you can see the bruises peeking out just above the collar of her shirt. A wave of nausea passes as quickly as it came. Somewhere in the past few years, she's gone from being your invincible best friend to a complete physical wreck.

"Look," she starts, "I get that you want to be nice, but just get the fuck out. It's not worth it." Her thumb finds it's way over the top of your hand, tracing a gentle line before pulling away. Or attempting to, anyway. You're not willing to let her go this easily.

"Who did it?" the taste of smoke is long gone from your tongue, but there is a bitterness that remains.

She pulls on her hand again, cornered, pissed, and scared. "Why does it matter? It's healing now. I'm fine."

"Who did this, Casey?"

"None of your fucking business is who. Leave it alone."

"I'm not going to leave you alone if you're hurt. Talk to me. Did you get in a fight?"

She yanks free of your grip, clearly hurting herself in the process. You feel some guilt for holding her so tightly, but her silence right now is a more pressing issue. The frown her face is twisted in, the guilt, fear, the anger. New bruises layered over ones that look weeks old. The way she looks at you like you're the threat, when she could likely kill you without a second thought.

And then it clicks, and the nausea returns tenfold.

"Why are you still with him?" She still won't look at you, but her anger is fading.

"Because I am. Now get out, and don't tell anyone you were here."

"Look, we can—"

"No, Adam, we can't. It's not gonna happen. I don't have a choice"

"Of course you do."

"No, I don't! You think if I did I would still—"

"Casey, don't do this. You do. Will you just... stop for a minute? I can call my Dad..."

Her hand is soft on your shoulder, and you try as hard as you can to memorize the touch. Just as you expected, it's gone as quickly as it came, leaving you wondering if she was even there in the first place.

"I need to go. I can't be late after last time…" there's fear in her voice. She strains to cover it, but it's a lost cause by now.

"Casey—"

"I'll figure something out." She forces a smile.

"…Fine. Just don't let him think he owns you."

She hangs her head, letting out a shaky laugh. "He might."

"He can't. I… come find me afterward, okay? Don't give up. Don't do what he tells you. We can get you out, we'll move if we have to."

Her back is to you as she slips her hoodie on, pulling it high over her neck. She flips the hood up in silence.

You think… you really, desperately hope that you saw her nod.

Within the next two hours, you will go through a pack of twenty-five cigarettes and two Xanax.

* * *

**== >**

It's seven hours later when you get a call from John Egbert.

"Adam," he pauses, and you think you can hear him sob. The sound of an adult, of _John_ crying is more terrifying than you thought possible.

"Adam, it's Casey. You have to come now."

**END OF ACT 2**


	29. Annihilation

**== > John: answer your phone**

You were supposed to protect her. You were supposed to make sure this didn't happen. It was your only job, from the day she was born until the day you died.

For god's sake, she's only seventeen. She's just a child, and your world doesn't make sense anymore.

**== > John: respond**

They're trying to take her away from you.

You hate them in this moment. You hate every physical warm body that stands between you and that very little girl in a very big gurney. They need to take her into emergency care, but they don't understand. You HAVE to be there. You can't let go. If you let go of her right now you have no idea the horrible things that might happen. You don't want to think about it. They pry your fingers off her hand and you threaten to break their wrists if they don't get off of you right this goddamn second.

Her eyes keep rolling back in her head, and her mouth opens and closes but no words come out. She's getting farther and farther away from you, and you want to run to keep up. You're not letting her out of your sight this time.

The doctors between you are becoming orderlies, the orderlies becoming security guards. It's so fucking noisy, the howl of wind past your ears, and you wish everyone would just shut up to let you be with your daughter in silence. She's so far away now you can't even tell if her eyes are open.

The wind stops suddenly as a fist meets your stomach, taking your breath clean out of your lungs. You can't hear her groan anymore. Someone is pulling you, pinning your chest with a sturdy hand. You thrash and you kick in blind fury, but it's never enough. She's still moving and you're not, and you can't fucking let her out of your sight again. Never ever.

There is pain that leaves your mind reeling, and the room is getting darker. You will yourself to keep thrashing, keep fighting before she turns that corner, but more hands are on you and there's nothing else you can do.

**== > John: drink the piss water**

You are SO FUCKING TIRED of drinking hospital coffee, and this time you can't even do it from the waiting room.

You wish you smoked. Anything to distract you from how lonely it is out here in the darkness. Rose is on her way, she said, but she has a long drive ahead of her and probably won't arrive until morning. Dave and Jade are out looking for blood. If you were inside, you might have an outlet to keep your phone going, or at least enough light to finish your sudoku. But no. Security has their eye on you. It might have taken three guards and a tazer to drag you out of the ER, but drag you they did. No matter how much death and pain and destruction you silently will on every staff member in this hospital, you're stuck.

Adam's pulling up in a taxi, you would know that flop of hair anywhere. He looks horribly out of place, and you wish for once that he would leave the tie behind. No one should be dressed up like a funeral procession in a place like this.

He spots you and runs over. You can't decide if that feeling is pleasure to see him or a desire to make him go away.

"Uncle John! Oh my god, what happened?"

You mind blanks, but he's stable against your chest and you can't bring yourself to care whether or not he wants your hug. His coat feels rough under your hands, and you grab a fistful of fabric to hold yourself up. Your knees sure as hell don't want to do that job anymore. You're tired and the coffee isn't enough, and this kid loves her too. He'll understand. You know he understands when you feel his arms against your back.

Minutes pass and he shakes more and more violently, eventually falling to his knees under your weight. You should feel bad. He's a kid just like her, barely legal enough to get here on his own. You feel no guilt at all.

"You have to… you have to go inside, okay? You have to find out what's happening." There is something horrifying layering the way you sound. The gasps for air. The hoarse, high pitch. You hate it. You need to be strong; Casey is going to need you to be in the next few hours.

For all you know she died in there.

Adam pulls your hands out of your hair, trying to protect you when it should be the other way around. You're scaring him. You think the only reason he agrees to go is so he can get away from you.

The quiet loneliness returns, slowly driving you insane. You want to make noise. There is just too fucking much for you to deal with and you can't let any of it out, so you close your eyes and focus.

You're out of practice with this. It takes a moment to recognize the air around you, to understand its push and pull. It's a bitter, horrible cold, and your bones are starting to ache from the pressure of it. That's wonderful. You focus in on the chill, on the stiffness spreading through your fingers, the sting of frostbite on your ears, the slight burn in your lungs as you struggle to recover your air. The biting pain of it is calming, and your mind can steady itself for a moment to recognize just how still the wind is around you.

A door slams and there are footsteps behind you, growing louder, faster, and more erratic. With a strangled whine, Adam hits the pavement beside you. His back heaves as his stomach empties onto the sidewalk.

There is no way that the cold could have ever been enough to keep you calm.

**== > John: act**

The orderlies are trying to help again, bringing you coffee and a blanket. Some part of you knows you should thank them, but you hate them instead. They could do so much more if they wanted to.

The cops came by, and you loathe them more than you ever thought possible. They stand between you and your daughter, using accusing tones, asking how often you have angry outbursts like the one in the ER. You have to force the rage down once again, letting it simmer under your skin while you politely tell them that anyone who would do this to his own child is hardly even fucking human. They have the wrong man.

Drew Connor. You spit the name like a curse, wondering how the hell you missed it before, and the police scribble away on their dumb little notepads. Two of them share a significant glance, and then they are gone.

You're alone now, and maybe it's better that way. Adam stood with you once, wiping his mouth in a vague attempt to wash away the taste of acid. He shivered, you remember, with the thick winter coat doing absolutely nothing to protect him from the cold. You sat together in silence for a while. He looked to you for some sort of reassurance, but you had nothing to give.

He told you that she was concussed, with a burn on her neck and her right arm dislocated at the shoulder. He told you that she had a fracture in her lumbar spine, and that she would be in for surgery soon. Then he took off. You have no idea what could be more important than being here right now, waiting for news, but something in him had broken. All he left was a puddle of bacon-scented vomit to keep you company.

The air is still around you again, helping you to concentrate. You haven't done this in about twenty years, but some things are more important than game breaking and your so-called normal life.

The breeze isn't there until you create it. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale the wind, exhale yourself. The sense of control is beautiful, though far weaker than you remembered. It takes nearly ten minutes of struggle to have the tips of your fingers vanish, slowly breaking apart from the rest of you, flexing an aching muscle after years of disuse. Your head hurts and your lungs hurt, but you have to keep trying until your forearms are gone too. Shoulders, knees, stomach, heart, bit by aching bit all of you disappears into the freezing night air.

It's very easy to find her when you can be everywhere at once. A nurse makes a mark on the chart for room 307, an local anesthetic is applied for surgery, a receptionist tells Jade that she won't be allowed to visit for quite some time. You hover, ignoring the screaming for your body to be put back together, until you can find your daughter. You move across her too-warm forehead, cooling down her skin before you tuck yourself into the palm of her hand.

Her fingers curl around you as her eyes blink too slow, and when the gurney moves, it takes you with her.

**== > John: Visit**

Surgery must be the most grotesque method of lifesaving imaginable, you think, but you're more in the business of inflicting wounds than healing them. Still, she handled it so well. No flinching, no crying, just a slow blink and her fingers twined around you. You are so, so very proud of her.

Had you been thinking clearly, you might have realized how scary your sudden change in existence would be to a teenage girl. Had she been thinking clearly, it probably would have been.

"Dad?" Her eyes are wide and out of focus, trying to seek you out of the sterile whiteness.

"Hey, Caseadoodle." You have no idea how you manage to keep yourself stable. "How are you feeling?"

She tries to shift, but can't. "…my arm feels funny."

"I know. Does it hurt at all?"

"No." Her breathing is rough and labored, and you're at her side immediately. She needs water, so you hold a paper cup until she can take a sip. When she breaks away, her face is set in a grimace.

"My leg itches, but I can't reach." You keep trying to tell yourself that this is a good thing. She's not in much pain. She has to be okay. The strain in her face means nothing at all.

**== > Casey: End it**

Drew's stuck in front of the TV again, shouting at his Xbox in a futile attempt to get out some aggression. He dies spectacularly, grunting in loud frustration before slamming down on the power button.

"God fucking damn shitty internet connection. Hey babe, can you pass me my soda?"

You look to your left; there's a half-drained and sticky bottle of orange soda that he must be talking about. You hand it to him reluctantly, thinking that it's at least better than anything alcoholic. He's never so bad when he's sober.

He smirks to you in thanks, chugging directly from the bottle, and a wave of revulsion hits you. You light up a cigarette to distract yourself as best you can. The nicotine helps a bit, keeping you calm while you watch Drew flip channels in his boxers.

He reaches to you with his other hand, idly toying with your ankle as he settles in on some mediocre sitcom. You inch your foot away, but his hand follows, and part of you wants to cry.

_Don't let him think he owns you._

"Hey, Drew, can we talk for a minute?"

"Huh?" He puts the tv on mute, finally withdrawing his fingers from your foot. The relief washing over you gives a slight boost to your confidence. You just need to keep your head on straight and everything will be fine.

"I've been thinking. About us, and how this whole relationship is going."

"Babe, I know what you're gonna say. Shit's gonna be different soon enough, you just need to relax. Quit taking all this so seriously, we're fine. I promise." He rubs your foot again in a way he probably thinks is reassuring, but the touch sets you on edge.

"Well, yeah, that's the thing. I don't really know if I want to be fighting anymore..."

"I know. Neither do I." He un-mutes the TV, clearly expecting the conversation to be over. For a moment, you think you want it to be.

_Don't give up. Don't do what he tells you._

"So I think we should break up."

He stares straight ahead in silence, blinking slowly as he starts flipping channels again. Apparently the sitcom isn't enough to hold his interest. You're not entirely sure that he heard you, but silence is better than shouting. You take a long, long drag of your cigarette before continuing.

"...Alright? We're not going out anymore. I'm going home, and I don't need a ride from school tomorrow."

He still says nothing, dropping the remote back on the bed with a light sigh.

"So... bye." You take one more quick inhale on your cigarette, letting the ash fall onto your jeans before moving to leave. The tightening grip around your foot makes your blood run cold.

"Hey, I said I'm going home. I'm out. We're done." You try your best to keep the shaking out of your voice, but you're sure it wavers. Your chin stays high, though, and for a moment you are so proud.

"I still love you, Casey. You can't make that choice for both of us." He takes the cigarette from your mouth, letting his other hand thread through your hair. His touch makes you feel ill.

_We can get you out._

You ease away from his hand, pushing his wrist down against the bed. "Alright… alright, maybe you think you do. But I just think we both have our issues to work out. I think I should go home."

"I could fix everything if you would just shut up and listen to me." His hand is back, bolder this time, and he tries running his thumb across your cheek. Panic starts to rise in your stomach; you're three feet from the door, if you make a run for it you can get out.

In a fit of instinct you lash out, striking him cleanly above his left eye. He snarls, fingers tightening in your hair, the burning, searing agony of a lit cigarette pushing into the skin of your neck…

You fight back as best you can, kicking and clawing and taking as much flesh off as you can reach, but he tosses you so easily. Your back slams into his dresser, and suddenly your strength is gone.

You can feel pain and see shadows, and part of you knows that time is passing. His fist is in your stomach, your brain rattles in your skull, the air in the room is so much colder after he tears your shirt to shreds. You need help. Pins dig into your wrist with every painful movement, but your phone is in your pocket, and you only need to hit three numbers to make him stop.

The light in the room is starting to change. There's something wrong with your head. Sounds and colors start to blur, Adam's hand on your wrist was so gentle, why does it hurt so much to move now…

You never said goodbye to your dad this morning. You can't die here.

He stops, sobbing and loud and thunderous in the distance, and you manage to hit dial. The emergency response system is quick to answer, and you try, you try with every coherent thought you have, to answer. You don't have the strength to lift the phone to your ear before you pass out.

**== > Casey: Survive**

Your dad is crying, and you wish he would shut the hell up. You're definitely miserable enough for the both of you.

At least there is no pain anymore. Your head is swimming and your limbs aren't moving like you want, but nothing hurts. He kisses your forehead gently, barely a silhouette against the fluorescent lighting, and you wish more than anything that you would be allowed to sleep.

_Come find me afterward, okay?_

You manage to find your Dad's hand with your good one, winding your fingers through his with as much strength as you can manage. He gasps and sobs and shakes, apologizing over and over, and you try to get together enough courage to tell him to stop. None of this is his fault. He tried. Everyone tried. You just didn't listen. And the last thing you want to hear right now is his blubbering about something he had absolutely no say in.

Your ankle still itches, and you still can't move your leg to scratch it. With that numb realization and fluorescent lights boring a hole through your skull, your disconnected mind finally shuts down.


	30. Always On My Mind

**== > Be Rose**

You have not spent so much time with your daughter since she stayed with you after her father's breakup. You missed countless softball games and bad report cards, behavioral interventions and even (you are ashamed to admit) one birthday party. Yes, there was always that lingering, gnawing guilt that tugged at the hem of your consciousness, but that was an annoyance at best. You could ignore it, crush it down, or insist that she had others who would look after her in your absence. But here you are, spending three days with a tired, woozy, and heavily medicated Casey and you are certain that this guilt monster is attempting to eat you alive.

"Ugh…" She groans and blinks too often, dilated pupils having trouble keeping out the light. She hasn't spoken to you much, if at all, and you find yourself more anxious than anything as she struggles to focus on you.

"Try to relax, don't strain yourself." You brush the bangs out of her face, finding them far shorter than they were last time you saw her. "You should keep your eyes closed for now. There's a lot of information for you to take in, I don't want you getting overwhelmed."

You're not sure if she heard you, but if she did she's certainly not listening.

"Mom…?" Her eyes seem to focus for a moment before drifting back into the haze.

"I came to see you. I wanted to make sure you were doing well, and see if there might be some way I could help."

She doesn't smile, doesn't react, and for a while you wonder if there was more damage to her brain than you originally thought. You know trauma like this can be terribly disconcerting; it's possible that she doesn't yet have the awareness to understand her situation. The expression on her face is more indicative of frustration than confusion, though, and despite her hazy state of mind she's aware enough to process her surroundings and communication.

It takes a moment of awkward silence for you to speak again. "We've been talking to your doctor. There's a lot of pressure on your spinal cord from the fracture, which is—"

"Stop. Don't… wanna think about it." A thin line across her lips. She draws tight, withholding communication from you. You hope that she isn't planning to close off completely.

Her hair is thick and dirty under your fingers, and she doesn't react to your touch. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." She spits. It's on her third attempt at turning away from you that she gives up; her hips refuse to bend to her will.

You adjust the pillow beneath her, though you're sure she's not turning because she's uncomfortable. "I'm not here to hurt you, you know."

"Where's Dad?" Clearly her mental function is perfectly fine. She is more than able to convey her hostility, and you're very much aware that you're not welcome.

"He's just gone to eat. He'll be back soon. If you don't mind my asking—"

"Look, I'm not your… patient so you can… I'm sure you've got more important… shit to deal with."

If you ever questioned your ability (or inability) to handle children, this moment confirmed all your beliefs. You barely, just barely, manage to control your knee-jerk reaction to sarcasm, biting back the venom festering on the edge of your tongue. She is your daughter, and she is hurting very badly, and no matter how much you want to disengage from this situation you simply do not have that option. There are no clinical options at a time like this..

"Can you leave…?" She snarls, eyes slowly coming into focus.

"I don't think so. I promised your father I would keep an eye on you until he came back."

"I'm almost eighteen and I don't even…" She pauses, blinking too rapidly again, "…I can't even… walk…"

With a groan she's curling into herself again, grabbing at at the morphine button to her side. It takes a couple of seconds, but the tension in her muscles eases and her eyes flutter shut.

You take advantage of her silence for a while, doting on her while she's too relaxed to argue. She's not grown particularly tall, but neither you nor John is so that's just to be expected. Slight but sturdy and perhaps even pretty, despite the glassiness of her eyes and the lingering air of hostility around her. Guarded, perhaps, would be a better term than hostile. Hardly a child at all, and yet petulant like one in so many ways.

After a moment's hesitation, you try your luck once more. "Casey, this must be extraordinarily difficult for you." She bristles almost instantly.

"I don't want to push you, but I hope you know—"

"What do you know about what's difficult for me?!" She's as close to shouting as she can get right now, with a voice akin to a broken, angry whisper. "I can… I can take care of myself without your help!"

"You're doing an excellent job of it right now." You can't stop the venom before it comes out of your mouth.

"I'm doing FINE." Her voice cracks painfully on the last word. "And if I was going to ask for anyone's advice, it wouldn't be you!"

"Well then. No advice. But I still need to make sure you're safe until John returns."

"Well would you look at that. He's back now. You can go anytime you want to." Her voice is still rough and strained, and she reaches for water to cool her throat. Sure enough, John enters the room with the most brilliant timing; not even the sag of his shoulders or the bags under his eyes could deter your relief.

"Dad…" He's by her side in an instant, with her face buried in his chest and her hands clinging to his back.

"You okay, Casemaster?" He rubs her hair with such genuine concern, and you wonder what curious quality John possesses to make him so much more accessible to your daughter than you will ever be.

_Time with her, of course._ The guilt monster cackles, pulling at the pit of your stomach.

She blinks up at him as if you were never there, and you think it you'll have to surrender this time around. Children are too frustrating, and you are oh, so very certain that fate played a cruel trick when it chose you to be a mother. You aren't gentle, not in the way that she needs. You don't like the shame chewing away at your insides, or the responsibility involved, and you really don't like that lingering heartache that you have to keep quelling. You can't cope with the knowledge that your daughter is in pain and you are not even welcome in her room.

It's all too much to deal with for one day. You have a novel you could be writing instead.

**== > Be Casey**

You don't know who she thinks she is. You don't particularly care who she thinks she is either, because the morphine kicked in and your Dad is here and somehow just having him nearby is making this a little better. This whole "not fighting with him" thing is fantastic, and you wish you had thought to try it earlier.

He doesn't ask what happened, he never does. You wish he would sometimes, because you're not quite ready to start bringing things up on your own yet. He still seems so far away from you and the life you've been living, and you don't know how to bring him close again.

Everything is still far away, really. It's all lingering just beyond a heavy layer of irritation, disbelief, and numbness. All you know right now is that the lights are bright, your mom is annoying, and the chest you are pressed into is warm and stable and far more importantly, safe.

He kisses the top of your head, and in smelling his breath you might have to rethink your conclusions.

"Gross…"

His chest rumbles with a light laugh. "Are you embarrassed to be seen with me in public?"

"That too. But mostly you smell like week-old carcass."

"I probably do." His neck shifts, and his chin settles on the top of your head. "But I think you might be worse."

The shade given by his chest is a welcome relief to your eyes, and you find your headache calming significantly. "I'm in a freaking hospital bed. I have an excuse. You need to go home and shower."

"I'm not leaving you here alone. Maybe tomorrow, after your mom gets back."

"I literally just went over this: I'm almost eighteen, I can handle my shit."

"Language." You would roll your eyes, but you don't resent the comment at all. There is something so wonderfully normal about your dad scolding you that it makes you forget, even for just a second, where you are and what it could mean for your life.

"Can you at least let me go? I'll be okay as soon as I can't smell you anymore." You don't know if you will be okay. Still, you can try your best to be until he changes into a shirt without pit stains.

"I'll need to call Jade and Dave first. Even if they're just going to sit out in the hall."

"Seriously?"

His mouth opens, a sure sign that he's about to come back with some snarky-sweet comment about looking after you, but then it clicks back into place in silence. He's got nothing to say, and you pause to figure out what's going on.

"You can go home if you want, Uncle John. I can stay."

The bright light is hurting far less than it used to, even without your Dad's shadow to block it. After the moment it takes for your vision to clear, you can see the edge of Adam's heavy winter jacket hunched by the door frame.

"The nurses let me in, I hope that's alright."

Your dad speaks before you can. "That's fine, but…" He glances down to you, questioning, asking you to feel something for this, but all you know for certain is that you are not angry about it.

Adam hesitates at the other side of the room, refusing to get any closer to you until you point to your mom's old chair. He stumbles when he speaks, but his quiet voice is very easy on your headache.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. Are you okay?" You don't think you are okay, but it's so hard for you to be sure. There is a lot going on and you can't really make much sense of it at the moment.

"No, that was a bit silly to ask... Um, here. I brought you something." Adam shifts when he talks, and you feel the press of plastic up against your hand.

Your DS.

Fully charged with a Fiduspawn card in the back.

Adam digs the stylus out of his pocket, mumbling something about not being sure of which games to bring. Doesn't matter. That boy is a prince among men and the rest of your day just got a little bit brighter.


	31. Never Forgive Me

**== > Be Adam.**

2:30 AM

Your apartment is still empty when you get back, almost as quiet as the streets outside. The order and spotlessness of your entry hall is a little bit comforting. You set your keys down in the basket near the door, brushing off your coat before setting it in the hanger. You take great care in removing your gloves and tucking them into your pocket. Simone promised to be home as soon as she could, but promises aren't very comforting right now.

The bathroom is even more spotless than the kitchen, and dirtying it with your disgusting backpack is not something you're looking forward to. Cleaning your face is priority one, scrubbing off the remains of sweat and tears before washing your mouth out with Listerine. Turns out the taste of stomach acid does not improve with time or adrenaline.

You should probably deal with your backpack before it starts to stain.

He's not going to talk, of that you can be certain. It would be foolish of him to try. You're clearly not in your right mind, and even such a prideful, arrogant, failure of a man wouldn't want to cross you after this. What sort of narcissist would ever admit to being caught off guard by a skinny little faggot like you?

You took great care with your treatment before dropping him off. Dad would be proud. Even Dave would be proud, had he been able to detect you in all his snooping. You couldn't let him take the glory all for himself this time. No, it was your turn to handle this. If there is anything your parents have taught you it is how to dismantle a weapon.

You kick off your shoes, putting them side-by-side along the mat. They'll need a thorough cleaning later.

For a brief while, you work to force some kind of guilt. You visit the moment over and over again in your mind, trying to fake tears or get that nausea to rise in your stomach. There was that brief, beautiful moment where he stared at you in complete terror, but even then, there was no gratification to be found.

You wish you could tell Casey. There might be some pleasure in that.

The couch looks inviting. You settle in, opening your laptop in hopes of getting some work done on your dissertation. In light of recent events you've neglected studying, and you're getting close to your three-month boundary.

You weren't allowed to see her after all that, not even once the doctors told you what had been done. Does she know, instinctively, that she's been avenged? Is she still frightened? Will you be able to face her tomorrow, or the next day, or ever again?

For the second time tonight, you find yourself retching.

You make it to the toilet just in time, thinking your body might break from the effort of pushing your stomach up through your mouth. Hate and nausea surge through you, but not because of what you've done. That doesn't matter. Nothing has changed, nothing has been forgotten. It's not enough. You just wanted to make this go away.

Footsteps echo steadily, seemingly from your bedroom upstairs, and somewhere through your watering eyes you can see his silhouette approach. His hands on your back are so very, very welcome, and you can't tell if your tears are out of pain or relief that someone is here. He wipes your forehead with a cool hand, holding you tight in steady silence. You might be holding him too tight. You might be embarrassing yourself; ruining the stoic image he worked so hard to build for you. He doesn't care. He just rubs your back calmly on the bathroom floor.

"Dad…" Your voice is pathetic, barely a whimper.

"It's okay. Simone told me, I know. Everything is still going to be okay."

Dirk Strider made you a thousand promises over the years, and broken just as many. You could kill every person who has ever gotten too close to her, wronged her, brought her drugs or taken advantage of her insecurity. You're good. You would never get caught. You could destroy all of her false friends, keep tabs on her 24/7, move everyone to a new country or pretend that you never loved her in the first place. And still, there is nothing you can do to make this better.


	32. Heart Attack '64

**== > Be Adam**

She's been getting better, you think. She smiles more often, and her neck and arm are healing. The worst of her concussion has long since passed. She feels things in her legs a little more, or so she tells you when she's getting goosebumps from the cold air.

"Next step is wiggling my toes. It's coming any day now. Maybe tomorrow." She smirks down at her feet with far more confidence than you're feeling.

You wonder how she stays so positive at times like this. Sure, she has her down moments, but you're fairly certain you've shed more tears for her than she has for herself. Every once in a while you'll catch her running her hand over her knees when she thinks you aren't looking, but before you can say anything she's grinning again. She adapts so much more quickly than you thought possible.

She's got the wheelchair out, and she's mastered it within a day. More often than not you'll find her out in the halls, her dad charging across the linoleum with her chair in hand. She'll lean forward and brace her hands against the arms, laughing and shouting for him to go faster.

You gather enough courage to ask her about it one day, and she smiles absentmindedly towards her feet.

"Of course I'm scared. I'm terrified not to walk again. But how am I supposed to be unhappy when no one owns me anymore?"

She falls back into her pillow, her eyes a little too bright. "I'm free."

* * *

The high lasts for a couple of weeks, but the crash that follows is awful. She screams to the ceiling, cursing Drew, her friends, her mom and Simone and any random nurse who might be unlucky enough to cross her line of sight. She cries about the unfairness of it all. She screams at her legs when they don't respond. On some days, when her sadness is too strong for tears and shouting, she'll lie on your lap in silence. You don't know how to react to that.

John asks what he can do to make it better, but she never says. You bring her a new set of games. John brings her a cup of mac and cheese and CK to hold. She just bawls and shakes into her pillow until everything she has is spent.

* * *

"I'm the problem." She mumbles, dropping her hand of cards into her lap.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm the problem. I fucked everything up. Simone wasn't even _there_ to fuck things up. I found Drew. I thought I was in fucking _love_ with that douchebag."

Something about this sets your stomach on edge. It's not right. She's putting voice to all those thoughts you've had yourself, but now that she's the one saying them…

"You can't blame yourself, Case." She rubs her nose, blinking far faster than necessary. "Drew is a failed experiment in being human. You couldn't know."

She won't meet your eyes, and you have absolutely no idea what she's thinking. She looks a little more like herself, though. The dark circles under her eyes are gone, and she hasn't had the energy to put on her war mask of makeup.

"Sorry I'm such a bad friend." She shifts her hands uncomfortably in her lap. You don't really know what to think about the past few years and forgiveness; right now you're just happy that she is alive.

* * *

You're watching through the hall window as she tearfully apologizes to her father, wrapped up in his arms as if he could shield her from the world. She sobs and scratches at his back, and he has to take off his glasses to cry into her hair. It's hard for you to keep watching something so intimate. It's even harder for you to look away. He rocks her back and forth, mouth forming the words to what you're sure is a song, and she slowly, so slowly, relaxes into his arms.

You find yourself struggling with a cigarette for a moment before remembering you are in a hospital hallway. The cute redheaded nurse has been trying to chat you up for the past fifteen minutes, but you have been nothing beyond polite in response. Yes she is very pretty, but you have more important things to be worrying about right now. You need to bear witness.

Casey's tears are slowing, and you can see the smile on John's face growing wider. She pulls away and he kisses the top of her head, leaving a hand over her neck to cover her scars.

* * *

She's going up and down the hallway at a normal speed the next time you visit, and you hope that this means she'll be well enough to go home soon. Hospitals are exhausting and more than slightly terrifying, and visiting her here makes you more nervous than you'd like to admit.

She grins wide when she sees you, leaning her chair back into a wheelie that nearly makes your heart stop with panic.

"Sup, Broski?" You manage to roll your eyes. It's better than motherfucker, you suppose. She walks you through the hallway, avoiding eye contact with all the nurses she was so rude to, before finding the door back to her room.

Your dad had a weight training schedule taped outside the gym once, waiting for the day you would want to take it seriously. You should have. Lifting Casey out of her chair has to be one of the most difficult things you've ever done.

"Come on, it's just two feet." She smirks, gripping your shoulders to steady herself. With a gasp and a wheeze, you manage to set her on the bed. The chair to her side seems to be miles away, so you collapse next to her to catch your breath.

"You okay?" She giggles. You manage the tiniest nod.

"Up you go, then. And don't you dare stop breathing on me." She hooks herself under your armpit, hoisting you onto the side of the bed. You don't really have the energy to protest. It's funny, really. After five years of growing distance, falling back into rhythm with her is one of the easiest things you've done.

She pounds on your back, more pain than help. Yep. Easy.

It feels like forever before you're able to talk again. "...Don't... Don't laugh. It's not like I dropped you."

"No." She snorts. "But you didn't really stick the landing, either." Her DS is to her side, and she's already scooting her way towards it. You're more than prepared with the book you brought, or so you thought. Casey shoves the DS in your face, stylus outstretched.

"I want to play a game."

"...Okay. I'm pretty sure you have plenty of them."

She rolls her eyes. "No, I want you to play a game."

"Casey." You sigh, regretting it immediately since you don't have enough breath to waste it. "I'm no good at these things. You should have fun, though."

Casey pulls out a stylus from the side compartment, handing it to you. "Try. It's really easy."

"No."

"I'm going to tell all the nurses how mean you're being to the wheelchair girl..."

"You've spent half your time here shouting at them. I don't think they will help."

"...please?" And just like that, you have to.

Gaming is, in fact, not really easy. You're not sure if it's the strain of your nearsightedness or Casey's head on your shoulder, but something is just not working out for you here. You fumble with the stylus once again, attempting to guide your character through one of his bizarrely impractical attacks. Dad would have a fit if he ever saw this sad excuse for a fighting stance.

"You need to pay attention to the top screen, too. Watch the little green ball." You try to follow her advice, but it's difficult when her voice is so soft in your ear. She takes hold of the DS, taking charge of the character in the top screen while you master the one on the bottom. You find it easier this way, and soon enough your quick reflexes are put to work.

She takes you through the streets of the city, pointing out where to go next while her breath tickles your neck. You hesitate from time to time. She begins to notice, and sometimes taps at the edge of the DS in impatience.

"Casey. I'm never going to learn if you keep that up." She glances up at you, the slightest smirk tugging at her lips before she resumes her instructions. Her hair smells quite pleasant, and... oh dear, you were supposed to dodge that.

She's still directing you, but you're losing focus fast. Your character is at dangerously low health, and you can't remember what you're supposed to do to heal him. Her voice grows louder and more anxious in your ear, giving clear directions, planning attacks, and sometimes stepping in to control the top screen once again. Her hand brushes yours when she reaches for the side buttons and something in your chest jumps. You try your best, scratching across the screen, and even blowing into the microphone when she tells you to. You feel completely ridiculous, but Casey is laughing into her hands so it's okay.

It only takes a couple more minutes for you to die miserably, and she groans. She closes her DS, slumping far more theatrically than she needs to.

"Did you have fun at least?" She asks. You nod, and you aren't lying.

Her smile inches a bit wider, but she doesn't seem to want to look at you. How bizarre. She is never shy around anyone, especially someone who was just brutalized at a game they should have been very good at. With the slightest hesitation, she moves to pull her blanket up and over her legs. You realize too late that you are still on the bed next to her, and you're disappearing under the covers too.

That funny feeling in your chest is getting uncomfortable, and you have to swallow to keep it in control. Her eyes are so very, brightly blue. And wide and clear, with long blonde lashes and oh god you're not entirely sure you're ready for the situation you're in.

Her lips are on yours, and the world goes black.

* * *

When you wake up, you've been hit with a two-ton wrecking ball. A white-hot two-ton wrecking ball with blunt spikes and an electric current. Everything hurts. You're pretty sure your lungs are failing. You can't see, and you realize with a start that your glasses are no longer on your face. Part of you wants to run home and cry to Simone until you pass out from exhaustion, a part of you that grows with every painful minute.

With what feels like tremendous effort, you lift your arm and feel for your glasses on the side table. It takes more time than you would like to raise them to your face.

Slowly, so slowly, Casey's room comes into focus. There are people around you and that you're in a bed. A doctor is packing up a bunch of medical equipment, and a heart monitor is ticking away in your ear. That noise is going to get very annoying very quickly.

Casey's next to you, her nose red and her face streaked with tears. She's got her fingers threaded through yours, and… wait.

Did what you think just happened really just happen?

She laughs slightly before wiping her eyes, her smile an odd contrast to her blotchy skin. It takes a moments hesitation for her to brush her thumb along your knuckles, stopping to play with the curve of your index finger along the way.

Another bolt of pain shoots through your body, and she drops your hand with a squeak. The heart monitor beside you is racing.

"Miss. Please stay away from the patient." There is a nurse giving Casey a look of stern disapproval. She backs up, and everything hurts a little bit more. Why she chooses now to start listening to authority figures is beyond you.

You wheeze mildly with your first attempt to talk. "Casey?"

"Hm?" She grins at you, awkward and gangly, and in your haze you think you see the ten-year-old girl that always ran too fast for you to keep up. "Your heart stopped. Congratulations. You're a walking cliché."

"Oh my god, are you serious?" You would groan if your lungs weren't in agony right now. God do you want a cigarette.

"Yep. Scared me shitless, that's for sure."

She inches closer again, playing with your fingers as gently as she can. You can hear the heart monitor beeping a little faster, and the doctor shoots her a quick glare. Alright, you will have to calm yourself down. Her skin on yours might be warm and nice, but your chest is about to be ripped open by the pressure. Your head hurts, your body is weak and uncooperative, and if you're perfectly honest, you're scared. You aren't ready to die right now.

That takes a minute for you to wrap your head around. You are not ready to die. How perfectly normal.

* * *

**== > Be Simone**

"What the HELL do you mean he had a heart attack?!"

"Now I'm sure this is upsetting, but my eardrums are about ready to explode and I am assuring you that he is absolutely fine!" Jake must have an awfully skewed view of what "fine" means. You're pretty sure "fine" and "heart failure" don't fit in the same sentence.

Jake clears his throat. "He's at the hospital now if you'd like to go and check on him. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see his favorite chum."

"Which room? I'll go right now..."

"I'm not sure of the number, but if you go to reception and ask for Miss Egbert I'm sure they can direct you."

Your blood runs to ice.

"I don't think he should be in there much longer, but I'm sure he's missing you greatly. If all goes well Dirk and I are going to pick him up tomorrow after the conference is over, but we can't leave before the senator finds..." Jake trails off into white noise in your mind.

Leave Adam alone, in pain, maybe afraid? Or risk facing John and Casey and all the drama you've been running from?

You'll apologize to Jake for hanging up on him later.


	33. Something About Us

**== > Be John**

Once upon a time, years ago, you had a plan for this exact situation. You played it out over and over in your mind, perfecting everything you were going to say and countering every reaction she might have. You're not a romantic man by any means, but you would try your absolute damnedest to sweep her off her feet. You would make it absolutely clear that you didn't mean what you said, that you loved her, that you've wanted nothing more than to know she's okay. Somehow all of this would lead to a serenade, and you'd get her dinner and flowers and anything else you could think of that might make her forgive you.

And once upon another time, you would have torn her to pieces. You had planned out clever words and low blows, lower than anything you said in the past, and when you were done you'd be sure this horrible woman understood the broken home she had created and left behind. There would be crying involved, and for once none of it would be yours.

What definitely wouldn't be involved in either plan, however, would be standing in a busy hallway while your daughter and her... friend? contact? person? sat snuggled into a hospital bed. She seems less than thrilled about the situation, too, arms crossed over her chest with an aggravated glance to the hospital traffic. At the very least you would have wanted someplace less claustrophobic to start ripping into her.

She's getting antsy; you can tell from that perfectly manicured nail that she's got tapping on her elbow. One, two three, four, five, there goes the lip bite… You should probably say something before she leaves.

"So…" Genius, John. Thankfully, she picks up the slack.

"Look," She starts. "I don't want to be here any more than you want me here. But that's my best friend and I'm not going to leave him in there alone."

"Whoa, I never said I didn't want you here, I just… wait, what?" You don't think you like all this new information. "…are you saying you two were in contact the whole time?!"

Her arms grip a little tighter, and you're tempted to pull her nails away before she breaks skin. "You could say that."

"What the fuck, Simone?!" Her name sounds so foreign in your voice; the noise of it sends your blood running cold. She seems shaken, too, and her lips pull in tight.

"Things work out in ways you don't expect sometimes. I would think you'd get that by now."

"God… couldn't you have said something to us? I mean, even 'goodbye' would have been nice."

She glares. "Of course I could have, if I was a masochist. I wasn't exactly looking to be screamed at again." That one hurt. You find yourself wishing that the serenading were an option, if only so that she would stop looking at you like you were going to attack at any moment.

She's started talking, and you can vaguely process something about "acting like adults" until Adam's release. He's not going to be in the hospital very long, only until the pacemaker is implanted and tested, and she's still talking and you should really really be listening to her but your head is going a mile a minute and all you can think of is that she was actually _afraid_ of you, she probably is still afraid of you, you fucked all of this up beyond any repair…

"I'm sorry!"

Her mouth hangs open mid-sentence, and you're probably still a terrible person for interrupting whatever she was saying, but there are some things that just can't wait any longer.

"Simone I am SO sorry. I didn't mean to say any of it, I swear, and I'm sorry you didn't think you could talk to me, and I'm sorry you thought you had to go alone, and I wish you would have made the decision with me but oh my god the stuff I said to you was so horrible, I should have never, ever said that to anyone. Least of all the girl I loved."

She stiffens visibly, pushing to the side as an empty gurney wheels past. You think yet again that this is the last place on earth that you would want to have this conversation. Her shoulders are shaking; she looks so much smaller than you remember, and if you had any privacy at all you wonder if you could try your luck at touching her hand.

She's not going to say anything, you realize. She might want to, but her hand is clamped so tightly over her mouth you doubt any words could escape it. You have to try again.

"…Would you mind at least talking to Casey? She didn't do anything, and I know she really missed you."

There is a strangled noise from behind her hand, something you're not sure you recognize. You must have misheard. It's loud in here, the nurses' station is just around the corner, there's any number of things that could have sounded like a whimper.

She collects herself, unclasping her fingers and regaining her grip on her elbow.

"I doubt she really wants to talk to me right now." Simone lowers her hand, showing her mouth in a carefully drawn line. You're not sure if the expression looks right on her face.

"Maybe not." Through the window, you can see Casey all caught up in Adam and her DS. He whispers something into her ear (what the hell does he think he's doing getting so close to her face!?) and she shoves him out of the way with a smirk. You're not quite ready to impose on whatever peace she's found. "She… had some trouble."

"Adam told me… is she going to be okay?"

You don't really know how to answer that, because the definition of 'okay' is always changing. She's going to live, that's obvious. She can talk, and she can move her arms and with some training her legs might work, and she's starting to sleep better.

And that's pretty fucking far from okay.

Simone smells wonderful, like a time when this situation seemed ridiculous and impossible, and you cling to her desperately when she approaches. Nothing that's happening is according to plan. This isn't how you wanted to see her, it isn't what you wanted your next first hug should be like, and this sad shell of a person isn't what anyone should have to deal with. You should still be apologizing and if you're lucky your daughter might forgive you, but all you can do is shake and cling in the hopes that Simone might be strong enough to keep you standing.

"Honey…"

"She's going to be fine." And it has to be true, because any other answer isn't one you can handle.

"…I know. She looks good."

You smile despite yourself; the familiarity is helping. "I think she's taken seeing you better than I have."

"Maybe." Simone glances through the window again; Adam is trying his hardest to get Casey's hand off his face, but it doesn't seem to be working. "It might just be a lot to handle right now."

Silence falls over the two of you again, and the surreal nature of your situation begins to seep in. Simone is still standing here, holding you up lest your knees give way. Casey and Adam huddle together once more, and his fingers lace through hers with practiced ease.

You take a step back, allowing Simone to breathe again before you scare her off. She can't seem to look away from the window, lost in whatever trance those two are in.

"I think," She hums, "that we're going to be seeing much more of each other."

"…is that okay?"

"It's going to have to be. Unless you're trying to break them up?"

"I really am, but that's beside the point." It's way too early for her to be jumping into this, and no one is ever going near your daughter again if you have a say in it. "I don't… I mean, if you want to come around, that's fine. It's good to see you again. I… well, I didn't know if you were okay."

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"Are you—"

"Worry about Casey. I can worry about myself without your help."

You flinch; her tone isn't exactly gentle. She's moving like she's about to run, and you somehow manage to fight back the instinct to ask her to stay.

"…Can you at least come visit sometime? I think it might be good if we talked for a while."

Her head is turned away. "Maybe sometime. Take care, John."

She fades seamlessly into the busy hospital traffic. Inside, Adam rests his chin on Casey's head while she traces pictures across the palm of his hand. This whole month has been too much for you to handle, but today really takes the cake.

**== > Be Simone**

The air and clarity outside is doing wonders for your headache, but you wish the noise would calm down a little more. You don't mind when it's real, when people are bustling around you and shouting orders, but the deafening alarms inside your head are taking longer to subside.

You made it out okay, though. That's far more than you expected.

Adam looks good, possibly too good for someone who just had fifteen seconds of complete heart failure. New medication and a pacemaker can do that, you suppose. He didn't even seem particularly worried, and the hug he gave you was much tighter than usual.

Casey's grown so much. Adam's told you stories, but it doesn't quite compare to actually seeing her in person. Her teeth are straighter now, and her smile looks so pretty.

And John. Sweet, kind, terrifying John who haunted you all these years.

He's not quite as tall as you remembered.


	34. God-Like

**== > Casey: Come home**

Your bedroom is up a flight of stairs. The washing machine is now out of your reach. You bed has been adjusted into, essentially, a mattress on the ground that you can flop out of your chair onto when you're too tired to function. Which is often, now that you're finally home.

It's not like you're lacking in help; your Dad is at your side nearly 24/7, and whatever he can't do Jade is more than willing to pick up the slack on. You need to ask her for help getting dressed, in the shower, and dragging yourself out of bed in the middle of the night to pee. She's eternally serene and positive, even while lifting you and caring for you like a child, and snapping her out of it seems like a more and more appealing option. Didn't she have a job once? One that didn't involve playing nursemaid to a high school senior…

You try your best not to focus on it. You'll wake up one morning and stare at your feet, and your ankle will listen when you tell it to move. Until then, you'll just have to get some killer arm strength.

**== > Flirt**

Adam comes around on more days than he doesn't, stopping by to visit after work. The car that drives him isn't his dad's, and you can sometimes see a length of deep brown hair through the windshield.

You haven't had the courage to ask him exactly what you two are, and he doesn't seem to be willing to bring it up. The two of you dance around each other, an arm touch here, a cheek kiss there, and, on a day when you're feeling especially bold, a gentle bite to the hand ruffling your hair.

"Ouch! What was that for?!"

You grin up at him; he barely even looks mad. Surprised, maybe, but your bite was more slobber than teeth. After wiping his hand off on your shirt, he continues to muss your hair until you beg for mercy.

**== > Get better**

Physical therapy is difficult, but so, so satisfying. You learn to twist your back in ways that don't hurt, to lift yourself out of your chair without help, flex and contract your stomach and find the exact boundaries of where you can and can't move. It isn't until it comes time to stretch your legs that you feel any discomfort at all.

"Are you all right? You're wincing." The doctor rotates your ankle, keeping your knee pushed up close to your chest.

"Yeah, I'm good." You're pretty sure you might have felt a twitch. Maybe.

**== > Ignore**

Jade's taking care of you more often than your father, now. He's taken a second job bussing tables at the bar he used to play at. Jade is great company, and much better with your airsoft guns than your dad was, but you find yourself missing him more often than not. You and he have a couple of wasted years to catch up on.

Mom hasn't been to visit you since your first week in the hospital, and your phone hasn't been abnormally quiet. Everyone who wants to see you just comes to see you. No one really needs to call to make plans.

You like it that way. Probably.

A couple of books showed up anonymously at your doorstep once, several works of fiction covering up a conspicuously thick self-help book. Victim to Survivor, or some bullshit like that. You left them all to collect dust in the corner where they belong.

**== > Be normal**

School has gone from mildly unpleasant to totally unbearable in what feels like the blink of an eye. You are supposed to be graduating in six months time, and yet you have only been to school for a week of your senior year. There's all sorts of chatter from your once friends, hushed whispers as you pass, and your burning desire to be home schooled grows stronger by the day.

One teacher takes pity on you, offering to tutor you after school and help you catch up on all the work you've missed. You tell him you don't need the help (you do) and that he can shove all of his fake caring up his ass. He needs to fill his karma meter someplace else.

He looks surprised, but says nothing as you wheel out of the room, bitter scowl embedded on your face. In the hallway there's the ever present staring, the people who step politely out of your way as you pass. You spot Zack out of the corner of your eye. He breaks eye contact before you can even raise your hand to wave.

**== > Stop flirting**

It's months before Adam kisses you, hesitant and fast before pulling as far away as he can. Your heart leaps in your chest. He seems reluctant, almost reclusive, but a second kiss softens him in moments. His hand travels up your arm gently, ghosting over your shoulder to send shivers down your spine like you haven't quite felt before.

A not so gentle bite gives him courage, and he kisses you back with a strange, greedy sort of precision. His tongue is soft and then strong across your lips. His cheek presses to yours, holding you steady as his hands grip into your shirt, teasing up along the back of your neck and pulling you tight against him. The feel of his breath and his teeth grazing your ear may very well drive you mad.

He pulls away, leaving you breathless and panting to admire the swelling that spread across his lips. You don't quite recognize the look on his face. He smiles ever so slightly, running his fingers through your hair. His fingers catch on a tangle, and he tugs gently to free them.

There's no time to make excuses, and the bathroom is the safest place you can reach without help. You lock the door, burying your face in your hands, and wait until your dad gets home from work.

**== > Eavesdrop**

"I don't want to do this." Your Dad's voice is muffled by his arms, and he slumps weightily on the counter. He and Dave are obviously trying to avoid you, and are obviously bad at it. You're tired of being kept in the dark.

"Look, Egbert, you don't have a choice." Dave says. "Casemaster needs you, you're no good to her if you work yourself to death."

"I'm not going to work myself to death. I can handle this."

"You hardly ever see her."

"If I don't take this job she doesn't get physical therapy anymore. I have to do this."

"You have to take the money, that's what you have to do. Stop being such a prideful sonuvabitch and go see your kid."

You dad doesn't have anything to say to that, and you can just barely see Dave's hand slide something along the counter. You don't dare move any closer to the doorframe, lest you might be noticed.

"Dave…" your Dad groans, shying away from whatever was offered.

"Just shut it, okay? This is all fucked up enough as it is. Call it my apology for my rehab days." Dave inches his hand a little bit closer, and you think you can see your Dad's shoulders start to shake.

**== > Don't be jealous**

Adam greets Simone like family when you walk through the door, burying his head in her shoulder while she rubs his back soothingly. You try to ignore your discomfort as he smiles wide at her, a smile you've gotten to see so rarely. It only grows when she smiles back.

Her smile falters when she looks at you, and that discomfort twists itself into anger.

"Good to see you, Casey. I was just leaving." Of course she was. "Adam, sweetie, call me if you need to talk?"

"I will. You too?"

"Of course. Don't do anything I wouldn't!" She escapes out the doorway before you can get another word in edgewise.

Adam bristles without her present, never quite meeting your eyes for too long. You never told him why you left last time, and he never asked.

"Can I get you anything? I think we might have some juice in the fridge…" He plays with the end of his sleeve as he talks. You ask if he's got anything stronger, and you both decide that ancient and possibly fermented apple juice doesn't count.

An awkward silence falls over the two of you, leaving you wondering why you didn't bother bringing your DS. You don't like the quiet. Your thoughts get ahead of you in the quiet.

"So—" He starts too late.

"Are you my boyfriend?" You say terribly stupid things in the quiet.

"What?!"

"You don't have to freak like that. I just wanted to know…"

He thinks carefully, tiptoeing around whatever danger you might present. "Do you want me to be?"

"…I think so." There's nothing to think about, but telling him the truth would be too embarrassing. "Do you want to be?"

"…I think so."

His hand is soft under your fingers, but he doesn't grip yours back. He's hesitant to touch you, hesitant to look at you even, and you try to convince yourself that it doesn't matter as you press your lips to his.

His hands twitch over his phone, and his eyes glance towards the door. He's bristling again. It's all you can do to close your eyes and ignore it.

**== > Get better (?)**

Physical therapy isn't satisfying at all any more. You don't make very much progress, and most of your time is spent on some stupid machine that makes you pretend you're walking. Circle after circle, your legs follow the same pattern and never move forward an inch. You really thought you would be able to do more than twitch your ankle by now.

Your dad helps you climb from your chair into the car, even though you really don't need his help anymore. You wish you didn't need anyone's help for anything, because he's home with you way more often and he always looks guilty about it.

Jade stays the night sometimes because you wake up with nightmares, and when you wake up you always have to go to the bathroom. She'll pick you up and carry you where you need to go, and on nights when you can't get back to sleep she'll take you out to shoot.

You love her for that, but the book tucked away in your desk corner is starting to look a little more appealing.

**== > Ask questions**

"Hey Dad?" You don't feel great about interrupting while he's on the piano, but it's hard to find any other time for it. You hope that maybe now you're old enough to get a straight answer out of him.

"Yeah Case?"

"…What happened with you and Simone?"

He stiffens over the keys. His shoulders hunch, too tight for any sort of motion, leaving his last chord unresolved.

"You know what happened. I got angry and she left."

"Yeah, but _why?_ " You've heard the excuses once too often to be satisfied with them. Something bad happened. Your dad got mad. They just didn't love each other anymore. Of all the versions you've heard, you're pretty sure the last one is the only bold-faced lie.

The pedal releases with a thunk as he turns. "Sometimes there are things you're better off not knowing, Caseosaurus."

"I don't care. I want to know why."

His smile is so sad, but it doesn't need to be. You just want to know the truth. It can't be that hard for people to start being honest, can it?

"You're not going to think very highly of me after this…"

"Sure I will. Tell me."

**== > Regret**

You don't particularly know what you think. Not about your Dad, or Simone, or anyone else you've ever known. You don't even understand what you feel about yourself these days, outside of bitter frustration that you don't work quite the way you should.

**== > Really. Don't be jealous.**

She keeps coming around your house. Bitchy McWhorerson. At first you thought that she might come in and say hi, and greet you with the same smile that she greets Adam. She never did, of course. You're starting to doubt that she ever will.

She waits outside now to pick him up after another day of discomfort. There used to be a natural ease that came with seeing Adam. Maybe you broke it somehow with your first outburst, or maybe it was just fragile to begin with. Adam's always been hard for you to read.

You let him touch you again today, allowing him to get closer than before. He moved like you were glass, sliding his palm over your skin so lightly and slowly, adoring. He never asked you to touch him back, and that helped. For a little while you thought things might be okay between the two of you.

His hand strayed, wandering your shoulder before sliding down your waist and to your jeans. You remember the nerves, the excitement, and the crushing disappointment when you realized you couldn't move your knee to meet his touch.

If it's not one thing it's another. People always say, when it rains, it pours.

Simone pulls her arm around Adam, and you realize that he might be crying.

**== > Get better...**

Adam wanted to come visit today, but you didn't think you could handle it. Your Dad asked if you wanted to go out, but you're tired of needing special help to get in and out of the car. Jade offered to shoot with you in the backyard, and you didn't really have a good excuse, so you just shut the door on her and figured you could apologize later.

There's a book in the corner of the room that you ought to start reading. It takes some time to find it under piles of scribbled-out sketchbooks, but there it is, intact, unopened, and dusty. It creaks in that way that new textbooks do when they are too thick to possibly be interesting. A sheet of paper falls out from the front cover, resting gently on the floor. It's nice stationary, you notice. So nice that it could only belong to one person you know.

_Daughter,_

_Your father claims that this is a good way to communicate when you don't know what to say, and I fear my only option is to trust his judgment. My instinct tends to lean towards buying you a pony, but that may not be as effective as intended._

_I just wanted to show you the magnitude of my regret, and yet I can't even pinpoint what my regret might be for. There may be any number of reasons for me to be seen as a less than adequate parent to you. I hope you can forgive my failures. I wish I could say it was not an easy decision to leave you and your father, but I am not as brave as you when it comes to facing the world's more human challenges. In some ways you are already twice the woman that your mother is. You certainly take after your father in your ability to speak your mind._

_I hope this book proves to be more helpful to you than I have been. Please never doubt that I love you dearly, even if I am utterly incompetent at proving it to you._

_-Mom Lalonde_

**== > Try to be normal**

After too much stress and a little bit of whining, you manage to convince your dad to let you stay home from school. You have so much work to catch up on that attending classes is becoming pointless. There's no way you could follow along. In fact, the idea of it is so daunting that you don't even want to try. There are stacks of paper sitting on your desk piled too thick to sort through, and books you haven't even opened that you should have finished by now. You want to graduate on time, but it's hard to think that this will ever be worth the effort. You aren't clever enough to be picking this up on your own.

With a sigh, you crack open your algebra book and get to work creating what might resemble a homework assignment. You copy down some answers from the section in back, faking work shown on the side. After all, passing with a D is still passing.

**== > Make a mistake**

You were really, really sure this would make things better. You thought he might even open up to you, that you two would be closer than before. You should know by now not to trust your judgement on these things.

Adam doesn't seem all that phased, slipping on his shirt in silence with his face hidden from view. You didn't know sex could feel like that, and you're not even sure that your nerves are working well enough to feel everything. No, it's not sleeping with him that's the problem. It's not even the anxiety that he hushed away with a gentle voice. Everything, everything is wrong with the hurry he's in to be dressed. He was silent while you shouted for him, he said nothing, felt nothing, while you clung to his shoulder and whispered in his ear. He buttons up his shirt high along his neck, putting on his tie before he even bothers reaching for his pants. You had hoped he might stay for a while, keep you company, talk like you used to before touching even became an issue. It seems as if he's in such a hurry to hide from you now.

One leg and then the other, he pulls on his pants, ready to be gone before you even have a chance to catch your breath. He smiles to you once, weakly, kissing your forehead before preparing to leave the room.

"I love you." You call it out to his back as he goes, but if he heard you, he didn't show it.

"…you fucking asshole."

**== > Casey: Surrender**

Your dad is picking you up from physical therapy this time. You're in the car for about five minutes before you start screaming.

He pulls over as fast as he can, wrapping his arms around you in a panic. You don't know why you want to scream, nothing happened, nothing's wrong. And yet even if every living creature in the world depended on you, even if the apocalypse was on and your silence could save the entire universe, you don't think you could stop.

Your dad is stable, though. Your dad is always stable and right now he is the only perfect person in your life.

"Love you higher than the sky, Casey." He pulls you tight into his chest, letting you scream and flail and beat your fists until you've exhausted yourself to the point of sleeping.


	35. Skyscraper

**== > Be Simone**

Having Casey visit is more awkward than anything you could have imagined. She's sitting here, just beyond that doorway, visiting in your house with a boy who doesn't know if he's a better roommate or boyfriend. Her voice is twice as loud as his is, and try as you might, you can't ignore her side of the conversation.

It's not going particularly well.

Of course, it's also not your place to interfere. You forfeited any place in her life the day you left, and that's just fine by you. Sentimentality gets you nowhere, not for Casey, not for John, and not for Adam or how easy things used to be. Your life might have been much simpler before his reattachment to the Egbert family, but that's past. You won't miss it, even if you have to force yourself not to.

Maybe Adam and Casey still like playing Pictionary.

Probably not, you think as Casey grumbles beyond the door. They're not kids anymore.

**== > Be Casey**

It's a little difficult to be Casey at the moment. The hand resting at your waist is terribly warm and distracting, but there's still a part of you that wishes it would just fuck off.

"Case?" Adam's voice is softer than usual. "Can you hear me?"

His fingers pause just below your ribcage, tracing a light circle through your sweater. They're softer than they should be, long and slender and strangely skilled in their motion. You purse your lips, resisting the urge to pull away.

"Sort of." You grumble. "You're a tease, you know."

He smirks to himself, quickly setting your teeth on edge. You manage a halfhearted swat at him. Not even. A caress, maybe, one that he leans into gently.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asks. You immediately open your mouth to say yes, but immediately think better of it. That's not what you want at all. Instead you try to kiss him, but he dodges.

"…fucker."

"Don't say that. I never know if you mean it or not." The crease by his mouth is gone, and you feel a slight stab of guilt. His hand stops its motion, sinking back to his side, and your frustration loses to your empathy.

"I don't mean it. Now get back here."

"Right. Right, um… this better?" He lowers his hand, playing over the button to your jeans. His heart isn't in it, and that pisses you off more than anything. Sure, you could just relax and let it go. He knows what he's doing, he could toy with you until you were begging for release and then give it to you in complete and utter silence. It even helps sometimes when he does. Maybe this time, you'll even be the first to leave.

He finally pushes his hand against your skin, sliding under your waistband, and you're done. You roll away from him, savoring that hurt little noise he makes as you move just out of his reach.

"You hate me." He sounds so finite about it. Like he's just stating a fact. "Why?"

Why? Because you might have completely lost your mind, that's why. He was good to you, he tried so hard to be there for you, but still your frustration is bordering on tears right now. You wish more than anything that you could drag your knees up to your chest right now, curl into a ball, and anger yourself to sleep. He's giving you the face like you just burned his playbill collection. You don't care. You are cool as can be here in your silent rage. Guilt doesn't bother you at all.

Besides, if you say something, _she_ might hear you.

"…I don't hate you." You mutter as quietly as you can. His hand finds it's way to your shoulder, and you convince yourself that you don't have the energy to fight him off.

"What's going on with you?" You don't want to answer, and so you don't.

"Casey?" He shakes you a little, with just enough force to snap whatever thread of sanity you were holding on to.

"What makes her so fucking special?"

He's dumbfounded. "Who?"

You snarl. "Your other girlfriend." Simone Rogers, fucking bitch extraordinaire, is sitting outside the door. Doing whatever the fuck it is she does that makes her so important to everyone. You'd have to be out of your mind not to be pissed off that he's spending all his time with a literal whore when he can't even be bothered to spend fifteen minutes talking to you after fucking.

That last bit was harsh, and you don't care.

"Casey, she's not my-"

"Stop lying to me, okay? Jesus, you act like I'm a fucking idiot child. I know you're not fucking her, and that doesn't change shit. You love her, and that fucking sucks! Ugh, between you and my dad I can't get AWAY from her! I hate her!"

He's flinching, withdrawing from you with none of the confidence he had a second ago. Your guilt is rising, but your anger is stronger still, and so you keep shouting.

"You'll stick around for her and she'll stick around for you and NEITHER OF YOU give a shit about anyone else—"

"You know I—" He tries to interrupt and you will have none of it.

"What?! What do I know, Adam? I know about as much about you these days as you do about me, which is apparently jack shit if you think I could ever actually hate you!"

"You told me to leave you alone for years…" He practically whimpers it, his voice rising in pitch. You doubt he's even capable of yelling. "Of course I thought you hated me."

The guilt is stabbing through your righteous again, and you don't know if your tears are from frustration or shame. "You shouldn't have. Because it was never fucking true."

"I don't know that, Case, I'm not a mind reader…"

"You are for her. You can finish each other's goddamn sentences and then when you're done talking and sharing and being in love you come back and try to force things with me until both of us are too fucked up to keep trying!"

He looks so damn skittish and awkward, his shoulders higher than his head as he slumps down nervously. For such a giant kid he can be awfully small. He licks his lips before speaking again.

"Simone is my best friend. I'm not going to choose between you. If that's too much for you to handle… I guess it's your decision."

That shuts you up fast. The floor is sinking below you, the room is spinning and you want to stand up and leave but your feet don't fucking work. He's looking to the door, and his fingers are itching at his phone, and you know he wants to call her to have her make it better for him. And you've had enough.

**== > Be Adam**

You don't want to be. You want to hide someplace and pretend that this isn't happening. There's no way you can be having this argument, or be forced to make this choice. You need to be somewhere where things make sense.

And there's no way she can actually be doing what you think she's doing.

You're silent as she struggles, her breath coming in rough gasps. All you can do is stare as she struggles with the button on her jeans.

"This is what you brought me here for, right?! Fine!" She gives up on her pants in time, instead yanking her shirt over her head. "I'm used to it by now!"

She's working at her bra strap now and you're frozen in blind panic. If someone could just step in and tell you what was happening… god, you would do anything.

She gives up on her bra, returning to her jeans, and you squeeze your eyes shut. Block it out. Block it out. Block it out. Breathe and relax and you can find somewhere else to be.

But she's moving again, angrier than ever and you don't know what to do.

**== > Be Casey**

He's not even looking. He's closing his eyes as tightly as he can, and you are treading that very fine line between desperation and complete insanity. All you ever wanted was to be loved.

Instead you just keep going. He's going to have to look eventually. Your hands fumble around the waist of your pants and no matter how hard you will it, your hips will not move to help you. You push and struggle but the friction of the bed is too much, and your socks are still on so you double over to pull them off. Tears are falling and you have to stop to wipe them back; you can't see through water and you need your eyes for something that used to be really easy but is suddenly impossible…

The rug is scratchy and uncomfortable on your overexposed skin, and somewhere, distantly, someone is screaming.

**== > Be Adam**

Your room has never seemed like such a horrible place to be, and Casey has never seemed so foreign to you. It takes a moment to process her small, half-naked frame in a twisted heap on the floor. And holy hell that heap is loud. She shakes and she sobs, her legs twisted in a manner that's likely painful for her but she's unable to fix. You find yourself kneeling next to her, but she refuses to so much as look at you. She pushes to her side as well as she can, and you take her ankle to help her untwist her legs.

"Just get it over with, okay?" She lets her head fall to the floor, face contorted in a grimace with her forehead pressed harshly into the carpet.

She's saying these horrible things, and you don't know how to react. So you don't. You can't. Everything that you want to say is caught somewhere in the wall rising between you and her. This imaginary construct she has of you as this… thing. This monster that would use someone so funny and charming as a toy. This monster that would leave her broken on the carpet like this, or crying and shaking behind the bathroom door.

You haven't been doing that, have you?

You don't really want to touch her, you are afraid to, but she's going to fall if you don't hold her up. She fights halfheartedly, struggling just hard enough to knock your glasses askew before collapsing. She's exhausted, but somehow manages to keep herself upright. Her energy gives way before her anger, limbs finally relaxing as her head slumps towards the ground. You think you might be able to hold her now, but you don't want to risk it. You can't handle upsetting her again.

"Adam," she starts, her voice quiet and out of breath, "why does she like you better than me?"

In your tired, semi-shocked state you have just enough presence of mind to understand who she means.

"I just wanted to have a mom _._ I fucking _loved_ her… and she's been sitting here with you the whole time. Jesus fuck, between you and my dad she might as well be ruling over my life."

Oh shit. You hadn't even thought that it might be an issue, but it seems stupidly obvious now.

"I didn't want her to come back… it's not fair. Just FUCK all of you." She gasps, wiping at her nose.

"You don't mean that." Her hair is soft against your face, tickling your nose with a smell like citrus. You remember that tickle, the same as when she was six and hugged you too tight when you'd fall off her pogo slime.

Her fist lands against your chest with a dull thud and her back heaves under your hand. She keeps whimpering, her voice growing hoarse and weak as she draws closer to you.

You swallow, licking your lips once before trying your hand at making this a little better.

"I don't… I can't answer why she didn't call you. You'd have to ask her yourself."

"I can't… f-fucking ask her about s-something stupid l-like that…"

"You can. I don't think she knows that you missed her."

Casey hiccups, blinking at you with a trail of snot running down her face. "How the h-hell could she not know I missed her?" She blows her nose on her shirt, clearly not thinking this through. You wonder what the hell she is going to wear home so her father won't kill you.

"It's not my place to say, Casey. You need to talk to her about this."

She wipes at her eyes with clumsy anger, falling forward just enough for you to be able to catch her. Funny how quickly she became this sad little thing, and how you're stuck figuring out what brought this on in the first place. You have no idea, of course, but you're a little more okay with this than you were. Sad Casey is much less threatening than the screaming, stripping ball of hate you were dealing with before.

Her head fits under your chin rather easily, and she reacts well to having you rub her back. When she speaks again, her voice is hoarse.

"Why do you love her so much…?"

You pause. "She… understands certain things."

Casey's face screws up again, and you worry she might cry. "Things I don't?"

You can't lie to her. You have many skills, but lying isn't one of them. She slides down into your lap in disappointment.

"Course. Of fucking course Saint Simone is the one you need."

"Casey…"

"So what do you need me for? Did she turn you down? Too young, or something?"

"Casey…"

"Or are you the kid that finally changed her mind? The special one who made her suddenly, magically want to be a mom?"

You pull away from her. She's being horrible and you don't want to hear it anymore.

**== > Be Casey**

Holy shit, you have never seen him quite like this. He's doubled over and fragile, curled up as tight as you have ever seen him, and his shaking breath is almost as quiet as his attempts at shouting.

"She makes me happy, Casey. Why is that so terrible to you?"

You wipe your eyes. It's amazing, just a second ago you had wanted to hurt him so badly, but now that you've actually succeeded you hate yourself for even trying.

"I-I mean, I want you to be happy, I just… miss you."

"I'm right here. I've always been right here." He looks away, failing to cover a sob with a cough.

"But you're _not!"_ You slap your hands on the ground for emphasis. "You're scared of me! You run away from me every chance you get! How am I supposed to know what makes you happy if you don't trust me?"

He shrugs. "I never thought I could tell you what I really felt. I didn't think you'd care."

He might as well have just stabbed you with a guilt knife. With a hundred guilt knives. You cut him off once and now he doesn't trust you.

"Don't be stupid, of course I care. I fucking love you. I want to hear everything you have to say and I hate that you ever thought I didn't!" His leg is just out of your reach, so you struggle to pull yourself closer.

"Really?" He asks, glancing sideways at you.

"Really really."

"…You have a funny way of showing it, you know."

He's in touching distance, and you slam your forehead into him without thinking. He jumps about three feet and you manage a legitimate giggle.

"I suck at showing it. But so do you. We're even." You pause to think. "To be fair, though, you've never even said it."

He smothers his face in his hands again, and his muffled voice sounds just like the scared little kid you used to know. "I didn't think I had to. That's always been a thing that's been true."

With some effort your arms tangle around his kneecaps, and you snuggle in as best you can. No, it's not exactly the height of romance, but it makes you feel a little bit better. He seems to appreciate it, as his hand finds your hair once again.

He laughs to himself, stifling a quiet sob. "I love you, Casey Egbert. Always have. I just wanted to… I don't know. I assumed you already knew."

You're somewhere between a laugh and a sob, which worries him again. He's next to you with your shoulders in his hands, and you smile into his lips as you kiss that worry right off his dumb, perfect face.

"I'm not a mind reader either, you know." You pause to wipe your nose. "So no more running away from me?"

He tries and fails to cover a smile. "I won't. But you're scary when you want to be."

"Yeah, probably." Your laugh comes in a snort.

"…and you're scared of me, sometimes."

"I know." You sigh. "I'm working on that."

His watery smile grows. You settle for pulling yourself into his lap, and his arms secure around you.

He hesitates before speaking again. "I…I'm sorry about Simone. I don't know why she didn't call you."

You shake your head "It's not your fault. She's still a raging bitch, though."

"And my best friend." His look is pointed.

"They're not mutually exclusive, I guess. Sorry I yelled."

He nuzzles into your neck. "I don't think you're even capable of being quiet."

You're perfectly capable of proving him wrong, sighing as you brace against him to keep yourself upright. His hand moves across your waist, and you are suddenly very aware that you are still sitting on his floor as a half-naked mess. You can feel your face start burning.

"Where the fuck did I put my shirt? Oh shit…" The snot-covered rag is halfway across the room. Shit, indeed. There's no way you can put that back on your person.

He lets out an exasperated sigh, leaning back to one of his drawers to pull out a clean sweater.

"Come on, you're like, ten times my size. There's no way that's even going to stay on me." With some struggling you manage to grab hold of your sticky, soaking wet shirt, turning it inside out to see if the other side might be wearable. Gross….

He laughs quietly as you pretend to seethe, doing your best to hide your embarrassment. By the time you give up he's already got his blazer off.

"Adam… what the fuck are you doing?"

"Making you more comfortable? Or something." He shrugs, loosening his tie before starting on the buttons underneath.

"Hey, I don't need your pity stripping. And you better not be wanting sex after all this." You try to manage a glare, but with your face burning your intimidation factor is slightly lower than usual.

"…What is wrong with you? I promise I don't want sex. I just… don't want you uncomfortable, either."

You laugh. "Well it's hard not to be uncomfortable when you're taking your clothes off for no reason."

He wrestles slightly with his sleeves, unbuttoning the cuffs enough to slip his arms out. "Really? I wonder what that feels like."

"Well played, Strider-English." Your head finds the soft hollow just above his collarbone. "So what now?"

"Well… I guess we have to try to get to know each other a bit again."

"Cool." And it actually is. "So tell me something about you that I don't already know."

He stops to think for a moment, caught a bit off guard. After a moment's hesitation, he speaks.

"Did I ever tell you about my first and last attempt to ride an airplane?"


	36. Raisin Girls

**== > Be John**

Knees suck. Getting older sucks. Wind sucks, cold sucks, cracks in the sidewalk really suck, and so do shoes so worn they have holes you can stick your pinky toe out of (you really should get new ones, but there are bigger priorities these days).

What doesn't suck, though? Having your daughter allow you to walk her places. Even better is having her _ask_ you to walk her places. You wouldn't dream of complaining about any aches or pains when she's humming along, bumping her wheelchair over the sidewalk as if it was an ATV.

"You can stop pushing me any time you like." She grumbles.

"Sorry." You're not. "It's been a long time since you let me go anywhere with you."

"Does that mean you're actually coming in this time?"

The answer to that is a loud and resounding no, no matter how nice it might be otherwise.

"You know, she might not even be there." She says. "You could at least come say hi to my boyfriend."

"I've said hi to your boyfriend many many times, and I told him that if he ever lays a hand on you I'll kill him with my bare hands. Everything that needs to be said is said."

"Yeah yeah yeah. You adore him even if he is a little shit."

" _Language._ " You were never very good at hiding your flinching, and Adam isn't exactly who you're hiding from anyway.

"Shit piss nook-sucking turd in a blanket." Casey smiles at you, crooked and a bit strange from a lack of practice. "But thanks for taking me."

"Anytime, Caseadoodle." And you absolutely mean it.

**== > Be Simone**

There's a girl in your living room that you're supposed to be ambushing right now. She's been waiting for a good ten minutes or so, thinking her boyfriend is going to come back when he has no such intentions.

He urges you one more time. "Miss Rogers, please. I promise she is just as afraid of you as you are of her."

"Sweetie, I just need another minute to get ready." You have to take a moment to wipe your palms on the sides of your skirt, creating yet another countdown in your head. Count of three, and you'll move to greet her.

Three, two, one…

one….

one…

two, one…

Yeah, no.

He sighs. "I know you're scared, but please? For my sake?"

"Adam…" He's giving you the sad look, the same emotional blackmail that worked when he was twelve. "Sweetie, I can't do the touchy-feely thing. That's not me. I don't know what you want me to say to her."

"You can do the so-called "touchy-feely thing." You do it quite well with me."

"That's different. Those were extreme circumstances."

"So is this." He manages the barest smile. "I doubt it will be as different as you might think."

"So what, am I supposed to ignore the screaming match you had last week?"

His face is passive as he contemplates an answer; you sometimes find yourself resenting that façade he has been picking up from you. It's too good now, and he's getting harder for you to read.

It takes a moment for him to sigh, adjusting his glasses idly. "I hope one day you will forgive me for this."

You don't have time to protest; the hand on your shoulder shoves you forward and you are face to face with one impatient and aggravated Casey Egbert.

"…uh, hi there." You start, but trail off soon after. She stares at you blankly, her brain switched to some channel between static and burning hatred. Adam's blocking the way behind you, and the only other door in the room leads to a closet. Shit.

"So…" You cross your arms more out of habit than anything, silently calculating how many hours you could bearably spend surrounded by coats.

"Is Adam coming back?"

"I think he might be a little while, swee—"

"Don't call me sweetie." Her tone is dangerous, just enough to give her words a lasting bite.

"Okay. Okay, that's fine. I was just going to be leaving in a second anyway." Seven steps to the closet, and you can just try to explain yourself later—

"He's making you talk to me, isn't he?"

You're sure you must look just as blank as she does right now.

"Isn't he?" The bite is still there, stronger than before.

"…Yes."

Her face sours, glancing to the doorway you entered from.

"Adam, if you're in there listening I promise I will PEE ON EVERY PLAYBILL YOU OWN."

There is a scrambling noise from the hall behind you, and the muffled footsteps that follow echo all the way up the stairs to his bedroom. A door slams in the distance. Casey fumes for a moment, staring off in the direction of the noise before turning her focus back to you.

"So what are you supposed to be doing here? Talking about the weather?" Casey's got herself a serious set of crazy eyes, offering a very clear challenge that you're not sure you'll be able to meet.

"I, uh… can't say for sure." Oh god. You can't seduce or trick or lie your way out of here. How sadistic does Adam have to be to throw you into this without a lifeline? Even he doesn't know how to deal with Casey's wrath.

"Right. So no apologizing or anything." Apologizing. That's exactly what you were supposed to be doing, but it's going to seem pretty fake after that. Not that you aren't sorry, of course you feel terrible for leaving her without a goodbye, but are you supposed to just walk in and _say_ that?

You realize you've been silent for too long. Casey rolls her eyes.

"Tell Adam I'll see him tomorrow, okay?"

"Casey, don't be like that." Like what, you wonder. Bitter? Angry?

"Look," She starts. "You don't want to be here, I don't want to be here, I'll play nice if it helps him out but let's not pretend like you give a shit about me, okay?"

"Sweetie, don't start putting words in my mouth."

"I thought I told you not to—" Her voice is rising again, but she is a teenager and you're an adult and you will absolutely not have her telling you how you feel.

"I'm going to call you sweetie because you're still sweetie in my mind, and if you will let me get a word in edgewise maybe I can explain myself." You're as surprised as she is, even if you have much better control in terms of showing it. She's visibly distressed at being called out, and even as the warning bells shriek loud enough to give you a migraine your face remains perfectly calm.

Casey shuts her mouth slowly, trying to keep her edge despite the sadness around her eyes. "…You left. Don't pretend like you care now."

"I left, but not because I don't care."

"Dad cried for years."

It takes a little extra effort to keep your face straight. "So did I."

She's silent for a moment, eyeing you up and down with appraisal. You seem to meet her standards, and she wheels a little closer to you. You find yourself standing across from her, afraid to get comfortable enough to sit.

"Sweetie, just say what you have to." Your arms are tightening almost involuntarily. Better to get this over with so you can tell Adam you tried.

"Alright." She straightens her back with dignity. "Fuck you. You made Dad cry and you ruined everything when you left. And sweetie is the stupidest nickname ever so you can cut that out right now."

"What is so wrong with sweetie?"

"That's what MOMS call their DAUGHTERS! That's what you call ADAM! I'm NOT YOUR SWEETIE, so don't you dare start that shit with me!"

It stings more than you want to admit, watching her struggle to wipe her tears before they fall. She's bitter and noisy and angry and you wonder if this is what you looked like, back when you felt so spiteful and alone.

"Swee— Casey, wait a second..."

"Don't TOUCH me!" She shouts, but she doesn't fight when you leave your hand on her shoulder. You wait, letting her adjust to the feeling of your weight on hers, letting her slowly slump forward into your side, letting her growl and snarl and probably ruin your skirt with eye makeup. She's crying harshly and hypersensitive to every touch in a way you're so familiar with. You learned how to pull away from the panic, how to pretend it isn't happening, how to smile and grin and look hot until you finally feel hot too. Casey's not there yet. At least this time you might be able to turn things around.

"Talk to me." Your voice is softer than you're used to, the one you use with Adam when he can't sleep at night. You didn't know you could call on gentleness so easily.

"I can't." She's all yelled out. She barely even pretends to fight as you rub your palm against her shoulder.

"You can tell me you hate me if you need to."

She sniffles, mumbling into your side. "I hate you more than anyone."

"And I ruined everything?"

"YES!" Her voice breaks with her scream, leaving her with nothing more than a hoarse whisper. She clings to your back, fisting her hands in the fabric of your shirt, and after the moment it takes to calm your blind panic you realize that this isn't so terrible. She's holding onto you because you are stable. She wants your help.

You open your mouth to speak again, but Casey beats you to it.

"…I thought you loved us."

The bottom falls out of your stomach, leaving you with a hollow numbness threatening to take over. You want to run. You also know that you could never forgive yourself if you tried.

You swallow, quelling your nausea before you find your voice. "I did, Casey. Seeing you always made my day better."

"Then why didn't you answer when I called you?"

"Casey, I'm not… I'm not your mother. I don't know how to be one. I was scared, and so I ran. I think that's something you can understand."

"I'm not scared." She growls, and you try not to laugh.

"I'm serious!" She snarls at nothing in particular, but still she hunches into herself. You doubt she could appear any smaller if she tried.

"Mm-hmm. Try to imagine, then?"

It takes a moment for her to detangle herself, unclenching her arms and settling down to talk. "I think I can imagine it."

"Good. Because it doesn't make what I did right, but… it really wasn't your fault."

She glances up at you quickly before looking down once again.

"I hope you heard that, sweetie. It wasn't your fault."

She sighs again, dramatically for your benefit. "It sucks that you don't think you're a mom. You'd be a really good one."

It catches you off guard, letting your stomach drop once again and your blood turn to ice. Sure, it was nice of her to say, but that can't be true. Not for someone like you. It's not like a mom is anything you really wanted to be anyway.

…What _do_ you want to be? What do you want beyond living to see tomorrow?

Casey laughs, a bit wet from snot and tears. "Whatever. That ship's kinda sailed, hasn't it? I dunno, I just… fuck…" She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, turning to face you with a loud, unpleasant sniff. "Besides, I have a mom already, and she wasn't very good at it either. All we really needed was you."

Her laugh grows a little louder. "Fuck family titles."

The ice in your blood melts to a warm glow, and you find yourself on your knees to meet her more easily. She's still hypersensitive, and she shies away from your touch when she doesn't see it coming. You take a moment to let her calm herself before you take her hand.

"I'll be living here for a while, Case. As long as you're seeing Adam I'll be here, too. I don't know if that's what you want, but I…well, I can try to make things up to you."

"It's kind of late now." The bitterness from earlier is gone, replaced instead with the melancholy of a girl who is tired of fighting.

"Maybe I can start making up for lost time, then."

"Maybe." You don't know if she's forgiving you or giving up.

"Will you talk to me?"

"Yeah, sure." She smirks. "Did you see Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff The Moivie: The Musical: The Movee is coming back to town? Dave wants to get us tickets."

"How about you tell me what you've been up to since I've been gone. I've heard stories."

"What, you mean the drug bust? Yeah, that was a thing. You know me, rebel without a cause. Starting fights, hanging out with juggalo trolls, dating douchebags, the whole nine yards. It was awesome."

"I'm sure. Any more detail?"

Her guard is back up, you can see it a split second after she blinks. "…what did you want to know?"

"Only how much you want to tell me."

"I don't want to tell you anything." It's more of a plea than a demand; her exhaustion is obvious.

"Okay. That's fine. But will you promise me something?" You don't know how much longer you have before she drowns you out entirely, but you hope you can get through to her. You hope you can tell her everything that you might have once told your sister. You hope you can tell her everything that you, as a scared teenage girl, wish you could have heard.

She nods a bit, and you try to calm your shaking hands.

"Find someone you trust, and talk to them, okay? Someone you know loves you, and will listen. Don't bar yourself off from the world, because that just makes it so much harder to learn how to open up again. Just tell the truth, and it'll be hard at first, but I swear, I SWEAR it will get easier. Trust me."

She sits in silence for a minute, turning her hands in her lap. Her voice is so quiet when she speaks again.

"I don't think anyone would listen."

Something in you snaps for a moment, and you don't know whether you should slap her, run away, or cry. You said those words to yourself every day in the mirror, maybe not out loud, but you could see them in every disgusting cell in your body. No one could love you. Girls like you don't get to be happy. Those thoughts drove you to madness, to complete and utter heartbreak, and in the end they very nearly killed you.

You will not let anyone else get that far. Not if you can help it.

"Casey, that's a lie. Your dad would kill and die for you. And I know other people love you too, even if they're bad at showing it."

"How bad are we talking?"

You manage a small smile. "Really bad. Some of them might not call you for years."

"Sounds like a real asshole." Her smile is returning, and you're more than a little relieved to see it. You squeeze her shoulder lightly once more before letting go.

"Mm-hmm. Sometimes assholes are worth listening to, though. So are you going to talk to someone?"

She's hesitant, but she nods. "Probably. I can't say it'll be soon."

Relief washes over you, undoing the knot in your stomach that you weren't aware was building. "Whenever you want to, as long as you actually go through with it."

"I will. Now look, I'm not even being sarcastic when I say this was a good talk and all, but I kinda came here for a dinner date…"

"Right, right. Let me go pry him away from his playbills." Your heart is heavy with the burden of a whole other person's well being, and yet somehow you feel lighter than you have in years. Worrying over her and Adam should hurt, but it doesn't. Your mind is at ease and your footsteps steady and purposeful as you move towards his bedroom.

You glance over your shoulder for one last look, only to find Casey slumped forward. She's quiet this time, without even a sniffle, and the smile on her face is wide. You'll keep an eye on her for certain, but you have a feeling she will be okay. In the meantime you might need a few minutes with a close friend and a hug before you send him off to greet her.


	37. True Colors

**== > John: Race**

She's barreling down the hill (far too fast for her own safety) but you don't have much of a problem keeping up. By now you've mastered the art of skidding on the air, just enough to move you faster than running alone, but not so much as to be noticeable by the neighbors. It's a fun way to pass time, you can't deny that, but Casey's lack of windy abilities has you nervous.

She's gotten stupidly risky over the past few weeks, and with every turn your heart throws itself into your mouth and the wind pulls to keep her upright. On more than one occasion you've asked her to stop this, or at the very least to slow down, but she'll never listen. You can't really complain too much. It gives you every excuse to keep her company.

She twists too far to the left in an attempt to stop, but the wind cushions her gently. She doesn't fall. She just laughs endlessly, dragging you down into a tight hug while her shoulders rumble. You knew there was a reason you hadn't put a stop to this yet.

**== > John: Stress**

"She's not here to kiss and make up, Dad. She said she wanted to help, and she is. Sometimes I need to talk to a girl."

Yeah, that's all well and good, but you're already exhausted from keeping Casey upright and you don't want to leave her in the care of Professional Commitment-phobe Simone Rogers. Still, Casey really does seem to have gotten better since they've made peace, and you'll do whatever you need to so she can keep moving forward. Still, it would be nice if none of these meetups happened _in your house._

You call Dave, because if anyone has experience in dealing with weird and wildly uncomfortable situations, it's him. Even the laziest of Hollywood writers should be awake by three in the afternoon.

"Mmph… h'lo?" You could be wrong about that.

"Should I ask her for coffee?"

"Egbert, you're an ass." Dave grunts, punctuating it with an obnoxiously loud yawn. Clearly he was the exact right person to call.

"I'm not the one sleeping past noon."

"That just makes you more of an ass for waking me up. Leave it alone."

The cold of the kitchen counter is welcome against your forehead. "Come on, it can't be that bad an idea. You made it work with Jade, right?"

"Jade is different." He says. "I'm not helping you invite another shit-ton of drama into your life."

"I'm not 'inviting drama!' I don't even want it to be romantic. I just want to see how she's doing, especially if she's gonna be around Casey so much."

"Did someone kill you and replace you with a rom-com heroine?" Dave's voice changes into a girlish squeak. ""Oh no, sassy and much more attractive bff, he's just my boss! We're only going out for a business meeting and he only got me this five hundred dollar briefcase to impress the client! This is SO platonic!" News flash: your creepy boss wants to stick you with his grade-A beef thermometer while the pop darling starts howling about love or something. And there is no way in hell I'm letting you ride into this self-destructive sunset."

"I think I lost track of the metaphor. Am I the boss or the heroine?"

"You're the ass. Leave it alone, man. Keep an eye on her and Case if you have to, but could you try to steer her toward Rose? I know she's a shit parent and all but damn if she's not trying."

"Yeah." It might be the most non-committal 'yeah' you've ever managed in your life. "I'll try."

**== > John: Watch**

Trying to steer Casey toward Rose seems heartless, especially with how much good this is doing. They sit there and they gossip about Adam's more bizarre habits, they compare notes about art and music and terrible movies and Casey finally learns to do her eyeliner without needing to smudge it all over her face. You have no idea why a spoon is involved, but apparently Simone insists that it's important.

You really shouldn't be eavesdropping, but it's hard to control yourself. Besides, they seem to avoid talking about anything too heavy. It's easy to catch snippets of conversation over the sound of peeling potatoes and a preheating oven.

Halfway through your casserole, the front door opens and closes. Simone must be gone. Fifteen seconds later Casey bursts in.

"Dad," She says. "We have to find Lynn."

"Um…?" Are you having a stroke? Your hair might have gone from black to grey, but you didn't think you were a health hazard yet.

" _Lynn_." She says again, as if you're supposed to somehow understand. "We have to find her. It's really important and we should call the police now."

"Case, I have no idea who Lynn is or why she's even missing in the first place. Can I at least finish my casserole first?"

"Her name is Lynn Galway and she's _important._ Aunt Simone—" you flinch and cut your finger, "—talks about her all the time."

"And she's missing?" You have to fish around to find a band-aid, but Casey is either oblivious or undeterred.

"I think so. She called me Lynn by accident and then got all upset about it. She wouldn't say much except that they haven't had contact in years."

"And so you want to find out what's going on." Casey nods, and you sigh heavily.

"Okay. We'll try to figure this out at some point, but Simone doesn't like people fishing through her private life any more than you like people fishing through yours. Right now I think we just have to let this go."

"I guess…" Casey grumbles a bit, leaning back in her chair. "But we'll find out sometime, right?"

"Maybe sometime. Not now, though. You've got to get better first."

Casey sighs in defeat. "Yeah, yeah. I am better, though."

**== > John: Stress more**

Adam Strider-English. The other threat to your sanity. Is he good for her? Is he making this worse? Should you even be _thinking_ of allowing any boy near your girl ever again?

Yeah, okay, you've known him forever and a day and you're pretty sure he's not a threat to anyone but himself. But that doesn't mean you can't worry. Casey cries often, and you know that a lot of it has been because of him.

They let you sit in on a movie with them, being the awkward parental supervisor to a couple of technically legal adults. It's uncomfortable enough that you can't even focus on the movie (some basic horror thing that Casey has to comfort him through. Not for the monsters, but for the pet dog). Something about this situation sets your hair on end, but not for the reasons you'd think.

No, there's gentleness to Casey that you haven't seen before. She looks at him differently, with a softness around her eyes and patience that she's never shown to anyone else. When he takes her hand, sneaking just the barest touch over her fingers, she melts.

The house is going to be very empty when she moves out.

The last time you had anyone touch you like that was over six years ago.

**== John: Answer**

Rose has gotten better about answering her phone in the past few months, having been fishing for news on a regular basis. She'll even call you to check in from time to time. Apparently, right now, that time is one in the morning.

"John?" Your brain is too fogged to answer, so you grunt. "Right, you must have been sleeping. Sorry I've lost track of the time. I just needed to talk to someone…"

"Don't you have a matesprit to talk to? Someone who's _right there?_ "

"I suppose that would be a better choice, all things considered. Go back to sleep."

"No, it's fine, I'm up now…" You run a hand over your face, slapping yourself awake. "What's going on?"

"Do you think Casey loves me?" She says.

"What?" It takes most of your energy to hold back a yawn.

"Just a question. Do you think Casey holds any affection for me whatsoever?"

"I…" No really, what? "Rose, that's kind of heavy for one in the morning. I don't really know what she thinks."

"…Of course. It was probably foolish of me to ask."

"Hey, Rose?" You start. "What answer did you want to hear?"

She pauses. "What do you mean?"

"Well, are you hoping that she still loves you?"

There is silence for a moment before the line goes dead.

**== > John: Play**

The sheet music you have is yellowed and dusty, but you find you don't really need to look at it. Muscle memory is an amazing thing. Your fingers have weakened with a lack of challenge; regurgitating pop songs and classic hits might make you money, but it hardly counts toward making you a better musician. You run scales for a while, tripping over your fingers in discomfort. C major passes quickly, D, E, F trips you over the fourth, B trips you on the seventh, the melodic minor is much easier to recall. Eventually you find your way back to E minor and some cliché old songs.

"You with the sad eyes, don't be discouraged…"

Your voice is fairing a little better than your finger strength, having been honed on years of fan favorites and Dave's bizarre musical works.

"Though I realize it's hard to take courage..."

A loud thud echoes from upstairs. You can't slam the lid to the piano quickly enough in your hurry to get to your daughter.

She's fine, of course. She just found a new, louder way to get out of bed on her own.


	38. Whistle for the Choir

**== > Adam: Talk**

Casey threads her fingers through your hair as she speaks. "You know something? Cocaine sucks."

It's blunt, but she always seems to be these days. To be honest, it makes things much easier for you to understand.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." She says. "I don't get why Dave liked it so much, it's stupid. I always felt like I was going insane."

"I'm not entirely certain you didn't." There's a sharp pain as she flicks her forefinger into your ear, but you can feel her giggle from your place in her lap. Times like this, when Casey's calm and relaxed around you, have become so simple. She talks, and then you talk, and when you don't feel much like talking anymore you can just sit and exist together. After years of infatuation and forced, fragmented relationships, it's amazing to see just how easy this can actually be.

"Yeah," She starts. "X was okay, but I really hate cocaine. I don't get why people like it."

"Why did you do it so often, then?"

She stares blankly to the ceiling, shrugging her shoulders. "It seemed like it was fun for everyone else."

You wish you didn't understand the way she was feeling, but you do. There are a lot of have-to's and supposed-to's in the world that you've never understood, things that bored you that people your age were meant to enjoy.

"…I think that's how I feel about sex sometimes."

Her fingers tense near your temple. "No kidding."

"Everyone told me how _awesome_ it was, and how I was meant to feel completely whole and connected while in the act. So I kept trying, and it was… nice, I suppose? It didn't really change anything."

She laughs. "I don't think anyone likes it at first. Talking about it is just a good way to make people uncomfortable."

"I don't know." You pause to adjust her knees under your head. "I liked being good at it, if that means anything. I liked that everyone wanted it from me. But I never felt more for the person I was with."

"Everyone wanted it from you? Think you're getting cocky?" She smirks.

"No."

She sighs. "…Yeah, that's fair. Who told you that sex was going to be awesome?"

"You did."

She winces, knocking her head back against the wall behind her. "Sorry. That was fucked up of me."

"Maybe a little." You say. "Why did you say so if you didn't like it either?"

"Probably to piss you off. I hated that you were so perfect and I was such a freak show."

"Perfect?" It takes a lot of self-control for you not to laugh. "Casey, I was a mess. It took finding Simone to put me back in any kind of reasonable order to exist."

"No way!"

"Yes."

She blinks down at you in surprise. "But… people loved you. You're good at shit. And I don't know if you noticed that you're freaking adorable."

"And afraid of dogs, and stressed, and apparently insufferable…"

She pokes your ear again. "That is such a load of bullshit. There is absolutely nothing about you that's insufferable."

"Nothing at all?" You roll to the side. It takes a bit of fumbling through your nightstand to find what you're looking for: a rare 1083 playbill for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.

"No." She backs up as far as she can against the wall, but you'd have her legs pinned even if she was capable of moving them. "No, you put that away."

"Are you sure you don't want me to tell you about it? There's really a fascinating story behind the understudy for Maggie, she was the first troll performer to play the role—"

"Oh my god I surrender! Just please don't." She nearly swats it out of your hand, and you have to shield it with your entire person. It might already be carefully tucked into a protective sleeve, but you're not taking any chances. Not after the pee threat.

"Right." You smirk. "I'm not insufferable, then?"

"Okay, maybe a little bit. But only because you've already told that story about fifty. billion. times. before." She pokes your stomach with each word for emphasis. Her finger worms its way through the buttons of your shirt, tickling somewhere around your belly button, and it's just about all you can do not to push her away. "But come on, playbills don't count as a life-ruining deficiency. Why did you think you were such a mess?"

"Because I was."

She scoffs. "You had things way more together than I did. Am I a mess?"

"You're perfect." You say, matter of fact. She blushes at that for some reason. "But who you are is pretty irrelevant to who I am. And I was not doing well."

"Are you doing better now?" Her eyes are still so clear and blue, and their focus on you makes you squirm.

"…Can we talk about something else?"

"Hey, you brought it up. Besides, you're not even close to being a mess. You're pretty much the best person I know, at the very least in the top three..."

"I don't think I understand things in the same way other people do." You take her fingers from your hair, running your thumb against her nails. "I doubt I'm capable of being a good person."

"You're good to me." She blinks, and you miss the blue while it's gone.

"Am I?"

She nods. "You're pretty awesome, and these past few months have been pretty awesome. And in case you've forgotten, I love the shit out of you. So there's that."

"Mmm." Surely she's being ridiculous. You've failed her and everyone else countless times.

"Is it the heart thing? Because I know that sucks but I don't think—"

"It's not the heart thing."

"So is it that—"

"No." You start abruptly. "It's not."

She shuts her mouth quietly. The ease of it all is gone, and she's trying so hard to be comforting but all that's left is the squirming, writhing fear in the pit of your stomach.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" She asks quietly.

"Not really, no." She flinches. You didn't particularly mean to be hurtful, but apparently you've done something wrong again. A casualty of your nerves, perhaps, or just another failure in communication. You lace your fingers with hers, and it's the last push you need.

"…Two years ago I tried to kill myself."

**== > Adam: Talk more**

It's funny how quickly a moment can pass. There was shouting and sobbing and her arms around you, but it came and went. She wore out her sadness and told you she loved you more times than you can count, and you found yourself numb and panicked and everything else in between. And then time passed, and the hysterical strangeness simply was no more.

She's lying next to you, arms linked around your waist, your hand in her hair, and once she's dried her eyes she blinks up at you with a smile. Someone else might wonder why she seems so happy, but you think you know.

"Did you really want to die?" Her tone is too calm to be natural.

"Absolutely. I couldn't connect to anyone. My dads were gone, and you were off enjoying your new friends. I didn't enjoy other people. I thought I was some sort of… oddity."

It's getting harder to hold still, but her firm hand on your back eases your nerves. "There was only ever work to be done, but I took no pleasure in doing it. Everything I completed seemed so meaningless. I wanted to be close to someone, or feel like I belonged somewhere, but… I only really felt that way with you."

She laughs, but her eyes are too bright. "Fuck… what? Shit, Adam, I should have been there…"

"Can you make it up to me, then?" Her hair is soft, surreal under your fingers. You really didn't think you would be feeling it right now. You were sure she would be gone.

"Today and tomorrow and the day after that." She says, adding, "If you can still put up with me."

"I'll read you Cat on a Hot Tin Roof again."

"And I will totally listen." Her face is so absurdly serious, and you somehow manage to fight down the smile threatening to break free. "The whole time. Anything you want to talk about, no interruptions. Just… please not again?"

"…Not again." You have no way of being certain that you will never want to. But right now, right this second, it's worth it to make that promise.

"Good." She wipes her eyes with a smile. "So every time you feel really down, tell me for the one billion and first time about the random troll actress. And I'll stick around until you need me not to."

"You're going to hate every minute of it," you scoff.

She stops to think for a moment. "Yeah probably. But you'll have to listen to me ramble about Fiduspawn and physical therapy afterward."

"And how much you secretly hate sex and drugs, of course."

"Of course." She grins. "Well not all sex, and not all drugs. Mostly just coke and sex with Drew."

The name sends a jolt of burning anger through your chest to bury in the pit of your stomach.

She opens her mouth, but closes it quickly and quietly, and you're torn. You could bring up Fiduspawn again and she would probably be happier, but that doesn't seem like the right thing to do. Being silent doesn't seem like the right thing to do either, but it's better than any alternative.

Another false start, and another. It takes her four tries to speak again. "I kind of think it wasn't… normal, though. With Drew. I thought it would be fun, but it was just scary. And it hurt for a while. I told him I didn't really want to do it sometimes, but he didn't listen…"

"Casey…"

"I don't know. Everything felt gross, and I thought I was gross too for letting him keep fucking me—"

You kiss her, hard, because you are selfish. You can't hear her talking like this, not when none of it's true and she deserves so, so much better. Not when there's a word assigned to acts like this that neither of you can bring yourselves to say. That burning ache in your heart and stomach is strong, too strong, and you will never cease to be amazed at how quickly a moment can pass as it shuts down. Your mind hollows, imploding panic into nothing, and your blood turns to ice.

"…I have to go."

"What?" Her hands tense along your back, but you're already pulling away. It was foolish of you to leave him alive; to think that anything short of hell could be compensation was delusional.

"Give me some time. I will be back." There is a lot to be said for live burial, from what you've heard. Your dads once told you about the power of oxygen deprivation. You just have to think of a good place to dig, but thinking is made slightly more difficult by the hand closing on your wrist.

"Adam, wait!" You can't move without shaking her off, but you need to get your shoes on and get out the door. Every moment that you lose, every agonizingly painful beat of your heart, is another moment in which he might be happy.

It's for the greater good, you decide, and try to gently pry her fingers from your wrist. She's got a pianist's grip, though, and she refuses to let up.

"Are you really going to leave?! Just like that?"

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Promise." The clock is ticking. You have to find out the cleanest way to damage a kneecap.

"No!" She swats away your other hand, clamping down her fingers in what may very well be a permanent vice.

"Casey, let me go." She refuses. "I am going to make this right. I need you to let me go so I might get started."

She laughs out loud, grip tight as ever, and you can practically feel the wasted seconds pass you by.

"I don't want you to." Her voice is firm, even for all it's shaking.

Fifteen more seconds, and the nothingness in your head is returning to panic. "I promise this will help."

"Do you really want to help me?" She sniffs. "Then don't fucking leave."

It's not going to help if you stay. You can't do anything here, except watch her suffer and Skaia knows you can't handle that any longer.

"Please." You manage to pry that last finger off your wrist, breaking free of her grasp and heading towards the door.

"Whatever you're doing won't fix this!" She shouts after you.

There is the tiniest hint of loathing that flashes through you. You don't want to be here. Her asking you to stay is too much, too painful, you just want to find some way out of this and fix what needs fixing.

But she's right. You spent enough time retching on the bathroom floor to know the truth. She's shaking and miserable on the bed right now, and that's not because of Drew. That's because of you.

"I don't care what you're trying to do. It doesn't matter. If you really want to help … just sit with me, okay?" She wipes her eyes on her sleeve, leaving you in stunned silence.

"…sitting won't do anything." Your voice is quieter than you would like.

"Can you just trust me on this?" Her hand reaches yours, gentle this time. "It helps."

You have no idea what she could possibly mean, and the strange, burning ache in your chest is starting to act up again. It only takes a breath from your inhaler to clear your lungs, but the pain is stubborn. She moves as well as she can for you to settle in next to her.

"…I don't like it when you're unhappy." You're relieved that she's close, because you don't think you could say that any louder.

"Me neither." Her head finds the crook of your neck. "But I don't think we can do anything about it."

You don't know if you understand, really, because she's still whimpering softly into your shoulder. She's hurting. You rub her back as best you can, kissing her hair like Simone does when she's worried, and waiting, hoping against everything you know that the ache in your chest might go away.

It only takes her a few moments time to mumble something about you being a "big, abandoning jerk." You flick her ear, and her quiet laugh is one of the most beautiful things you've ever heard. Another few minutes and you're fumbling with the lid to your heart medication, with her tipping a glass of water towards you and spilling it all over your pants. More time passes and her smile becomes genuine, recounting her last miserable time in physical therapy and how she might just save up for robot legs and be done with it.

And maybe you don't have to really understand, because it's easier this way. You know she wants you here, and she smiles when you're here, and if that helps her, then understanding is worthless anyway. You'll do whatever you have to, for her.

**== > Adam: Head home**

It's late by the time you get back to your apartment; Simone's back from her dinner date with Roxy and about ready to crash on the couch. It doesn't take you very long to slide in next to her and turn off the TV.

"Mail for you." She mumbles, half-shoving a professional looking envelope in your direction. It skids off the table to land at your feet.

"Those are a lot of stamps…"

"It's from England. Of course there're a lot of stamps." Simone rolls to her side, trying and failing to wake herself up.

You don't know anyone in England. Why would someone be sending you mail from England?

Of course you could just figure out the answer now. So you open your letter, only to drop it about five seconds later.

* * *

_**Adam A. H. Strider-English** _

_**1025 Parkhurst Rd.** _

_**Maple Valley, WA 98038** _

 

_Dear Mr. Strider-English,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you are being considered for a position in our Department of Research and Development…_


	39. Such Great Heights

**== > Reject**

""Considered for a position"?! Miss Rogers, what does "considered for a position" mean?!"

"Generally speaking, it means they're considering you for a position." She leans down to scoop the letter off the floor. "And a really nice one at that. Are you sure there are supposed to be that many zeroes on your salary?"

"I didn't apply for any jobs in England!"

"You have four degrees and a work history that involves the Dirk Strider campaign. I don't think you really need to apply for any. But look at that, you could put your engineering background to good use…" Simone takes the paper and scans it for information. "And the benefits aren't bad, either…"

"Miss Rogers, tear that letter immediately."

"What?" She stares at him, dumbfounded.

"I-I can't…" Adam scowls. "Who do they think they are? I have work to do, they can't just run around offering me _jobs_!"

"I think they're just trying to hire someone, not ruin your life."

"Don't be absurd. Dad would run the campaign into the ground while Dad loitered about with his horse memorabilia. It would be disastrous if I left."

"Mmm." Simone hums, scanning the paper again. "I'm sure it would be."

"It would!"

"Mmm."

"Stop "mmm"-ing at me! I know what that "mmm" means and I won't have you judging me for this."

"I'm not judging you, sweetie. I'm just looking." Simone traces the lines of text, reading along. "You'd have your choice of working with the development of military-grade defensive and medical technology, or in the programming/computer science department. Which would you prefer?"

" _Neither!"_ Adam hisses.

"Hypothetically?"

"Hypothetically computer science of course, but that's irrelevant. I won't do it."

"It's still just an interview." Simone says. "You wouldn't have to make any promises."

"Miss Rogers," He stops, trying to control his shaking. "This is a job in England. England is a very, very long way from here, and I would need to fly on a plane to reach it. If you want me to leave so badly, you could just say so and I'd move out as soon as you need."

Simone drops the letter, allowing them both to pay a respectful silence as it falls. She takes a moment, unable to meet his eyes.

"Adam, if I could live with you forever, I would." She says in a shaky exhale. "But this is a big deal. I'd never forgive myself if you turned this down for my sake."

"I…" He shifts. His lips still taste like her chap stick and he wants to keep talking about Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. "It's not just you."

"I know, sweetie. You don't have to decide on anything just now, okay?"

It's not okay, not really. But he buries himself in her arms and it comes a little closer to being so. Letters and decisions can be dealt with in the morning, when the chap stick is faded and his heart is beating a normal rhythm again.

**== > Shoot**

BANG

Casey grins wide, easing up on her aim with a bit less care than she needs. The airsoft rifle nearly clocks Jade in the nose before she catches it.

"Case! You're gonna shoot someone if you keep swinging it around like that. And not anyone that you want to shoot, either…"

"I hit the bottle, though! Look at that, it split right through the center…"

"I know." Jade smiles down at her. "It was a good shot, but don't start getting full of yourself."

"I'm not!" Casey insists.

Jade quirks an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Can I just have the rifle please?"

Jade laughs to herself, shaking her head as she takes a stance. "One second"

BANG

BANG

BANG

Three more bottles explode into shrapnel around them, a shard of glass whizzing by Jade's ear. She halts, perfectly still (much to Casey's amazement) until the dust settles around her and her skirt floats back into place. She hands the rifle back to Casey with a light giggle.

"Here." She smiles. "You can have it."

"Now who's full of herself?" Casey frowns, hardly upset but good at faking it.

"I've been practicing for years, I think I've earned the chance to show off just a teeny little bit. I've gotta prove that I still can."

"Right…" Casey shifts. "Hey, Jade… have you been practicing other stuff, too?"

"What kind of other stuff?"

"Stuff Dad talked about. Robotic stuff. Do you still do that?"

"I…" Jade pauses, deep in thought. "You know, it's been a really long time. I think I kind of remember the basics, I could probably assemble a simple one for you—"

"Dad told me that once there was a troll who was paralyzed, too." Casey adjusts the gun to her shoulder, and Jade wheels her chair back to help her aim. "He said he got a pair of robot legs, and could walk again."

"That's true, but I mean… Casey, I don't think I can do what you're asking."

"You won't even try, then?"

"Hey," Jade faces Casey with concern. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that could be? I've only ever built robots, I have no idea where to start with _attaching them to people_. I don't want to use you as some kind of test dummy for cyborg parts."

"It'd be fine! I don't mind losing my legs, they're not really doing much…"

"Your legs are fine, it's your back that's the problem. And I have no idea how to put a robotic spine into a person. What if I paralyzed the rest of you? And you say you're okay with losing your legs now, but I mean, you can still feel them and move them a little. That would make for a _lot_ of pain, and what if some other fix comes along…"

"So you won't do it. Fine." Casey fires, missing the last bottle by several feet.

"Casey, I'm—"

"No, really, it's fine." She stares forward, deep in focus. "I understand. It wasn't very nice of me to ask."

Jade rubs a small circle into her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Case. Don't give up on PT just yet."

Casey says nothing, but fires again. The last bottle stays intact.

**== > Rush**

John's on his way to pick her up, cursing the traffic far more than usual. His piano lesson ran late, putting him right behind some terrible driver and making him wonder just how much trouble he could get in for flying his car to the office.

"Come on, come on…" the car in front of him, apparently oblivious to his disabled and probably exhausted daughter's plight, continues forward with all the hurry of a strung-out sloth. John never thought he'd relate to those people who smash car windows with bricks.

"Come on come on come on!" There's an opening. It's just wide enough for this douchebag to make his turn and… yes! Open road. He speeds down as much of the stretch as he can, trying frantically to get his daughter on the phone.

"You've reached Casey Egbert, you know what to do…" Voicemail again. John hangs up; five apologies are probably enough, and he's rounding the corner by the tutoring center. There's a familiar car with a more familiar wheelchair parked outside.

"Casey!" He shouts, and her head turns to acknowledge him. "I'm so sorry I'm late, I really didn't think the lesson would go that long… how long have you been waiting? Everything okay?"

She shakes her head at him with a heavy eye roll. "I'm fine, my tutor just left a half hour ago. I haven't even been waiting that long."

"Half an hour is long! Half an hour is exactly half…too…" Simone is leaning against the familiar car; her dark curls frame her face almost too perfectly.

"That's okay!" Casey grins. "Simone was driving past and saw me waiting, so she stopped to wait with me. She was gonna give me a ride, but I thought you might have some kind of fit…"

"I would have." He might have one anyway. "So, you're sure you're okay?"

""I'm _fine._ " Her second eye roll is even heavier, if possible, with a loud sigh for John's benefit. "Can we go home, though?"

"Right! Of course." He says. Simone waves goodbye to Casey, turning to head back into her car, and something lurches in his stomach.

"Simone?" He starts, unsure if his brain has caught up to his mouth. "Would you like to come over for dinner?"

**== > Discover**

Simone hasn't come home yet, and Adam is busy doing research. Three theses for three different graduate courses, the last one being on biomimetics and it's practical uses in modern society. Adam hadn't been particularly interested in the course (too close to biology, which is too close to germs and therefore too close to fatal disease) and was heavily considering dropping it. At least he was until he started this research paper.

"… _given proper resources, we believe that we can construct a completely healthy synthetic nervous system within the next five years. This could present new treatment options for creatures facing Multiple Sclerosis and Parkinson's disease, as well as creatures who have suffered neural injuries resulting in paralysis or a loss of sensation…"_

There is a letter sitting on the floor behind the coffee table. One that would, in theory, offer him a significant number of resources.

**== > Touch**

Casey passed out on the couch about twenty minutes after dinner. Some things never change, and her inability to admit her exhaustion is one of them. The movie isn't even halfway over, but John is already trying to pack her up to carry her upstairs.

Simone tries her hardest not to pay attention, to focus on the movie and plan her escape, but nothing about it is working. Not that she couldn't escape, she's very good at escaping, but her stomach is full of baked ziti and the couch here is very comfortable. Not to mention the suspenseful notes of "Bangkok Dangerous" playing over Casey's light snoring.

"Sorry." John has to lean into her ear to whisper it; she can smell his soap and the faintest scent of grass clippings. "I know she's noisy. I'll get her upstairs soon."

"It's fine." She tries to keep her voice steady. "You can wait until the movie's over. I don't want to wake her up."

John nods, settling back down into the couch behind him. It should be awkward. In fact, it should be positively uncomfortable and she should be itching to run out the door and never look back. But it isn't, and she isn't and she settles back to watch the movie in peace. It ends a little bit too soon.

"…That was horrible. Has your taste in movies gotten worse?" Simone's voice is barely above a whisper; she can't risk waking Casey up.

"My taste in movies is flawless." John jokes, his whisper is slightly louder than hers. "And this is Nic Cage in peak form. It's basically the best movie ever made."

Simone has to cover her mouth to control her snort, but the sound is still loud enough to have Casey stirring. Her blond lashes twitch as she mumbles something in her sleep, turning over into her Dad's side.

"Caseasaurus." John whispers, shaking her shoulder gently. "We need to get you upstairs."

"Mmm…I can do it… you go to bed…"

"I know you can, but I'd rather it didn't take you half an hour to get there."

"…Kay." Casey yawns wide, extending her arms for her father to lift her off the couch. He obliges, gently as possible. Her feet dangle over the crook of his elbow, but Simone catches her ankle flexing under her jeans.

Simone could escape now, again, while no one is watching. John is clearly preoccupied, and will be for a while. He probably wouldn't even notice, and she has no reason to say goodbye. But she waits, and when John comes down the stairs again, he's a little shocked to find her there.

"Simone?" He shifts. "Um… thanks for coming and all. It was great to have you. Sorry we kept you so late."

"No, I had fun." She says, still whispering even though there's no one to wake up. "I'm glad I ran into Casey."

"Me too. Thank you for looking out for her, by the way."

"I don't think she needed much looking after. But it was definitely good company." She smiles.

He stares at her for a moment, expression unreadable. A glance to the door, to her coat, to her lips and her breasts, and then away quickly because he is a gentleman and wouldn't dare focus anywhere where he was unwelcome. A blush spreads across his cheeks, and with tense swallow, he turns upstairs.

"John?" Simone could have been out the door by now, but here they are.

"Yes?"

"It's not that late yet. Do you want to go out?" Her mouth quirks in a half-smirk, the one she knows always gets her way. The one she knows she shouldn't be using on him. "Just you and me?"

He pauses, throat moving in a swallow, frozen as a bumbling, awkward statue unable to look anywhere but directly at her. She bites her lip, never shy but slightly nervous, and wonders if he can find where the zip is on her dress.

And then he thaws.

"Maybe some other time." He mumbles, voice thick with regret. "Right now, I think I have to take care of Casey."

Her smile never fails, her seduction can bring the most celibate of men to his knees, and she hasn't found anyone worth using it on in years. She should be upset right now. Fuming. Nursing a bruised ego and going home to lick her wounds. But as she takes the first step out the door and the night air hits her skin, all she can feel is a warm, happy glow.

**== > Study**

Adam is focused on research again, poring over his computer with unrelenting focus. There are a lot of things that are "theoretically possible" that modern science is nowhere near achieving; he needs to understand if this is a theory or if this can be put into practice.

"Sweetie, I'm home!" He barely looks up from his laptop as Simone's voice echoes through the apartment. "Shouldn't you have some lights on in here?"

"I'm in the study!" Not that he has lights on in the study, either, but at least she knows where to find him.

"Did you have fun tonight?" He's a master at multi-tasking; though he never breaks away from his research for a second, he wants to hear all about what kept his roommate out so late.

"Yeah, I did." Her arms drop over his shoulders. "I hope you're not breaking rule 8 here…"

"I'm not." And it's true, sort of. "This isn't for school."

"…Neuroscience? I thought you didn't like biology." She scoots over your shoulder, looking closer at the screen.

"I didn't, particularly. And I still don't. But you can't know how to construct something artificial until you know how the organic structure works." A human spine is an incredibly intricate and fascinating organic structure, and will make an even more fascinating machine.

"…You want to construct a… oh sweetie." Her arms tighten around his shoulders. "Do you think that's something you could do?"

"I have no doubt in my mind." It's something he has to do, and for once, it's something he's good at. "I just need a larger lab to work with, and it will take quite a bit of money."

He glances to his side; the letter sits on his desk looming up and threatening. He tenses his jaw, trying his hardest to ignore the growing pressure in his throat and the prickling at the corner of his eyes.

"So…So I scheduled the phone interview for tomorrow afternoon."

Simone blanches. "You're taking the job?"

"If they offer it to me, maybe... I…"

Simone's arms stiffen around his shoulders. She doesn't need to say anything else; he understands. He turns into her shoulder and she holds him tight, and he shakes until all his fears are spent.

"I can do it, though." His feeble voice is still calmer than he feels. His pacemaker has never been more necessary. "If they allow me to use work resources, or if I can pass it off as a medical development for the company, I'm sure I could learn. She might walk again, and all I'd have to do is suck it up and live somewhere else."

"And you're sure you can do that?" Simone leaves a hand on his shoulder, heavy and comforting.

He nods, lips tight to hide their quiver. He will always do whatever he has to for her.

**== > Accept**

"You're going WHERE?!" Jake English might just be the loudest human in existence.

"Dad, please, I'm just trying to—"

"I don't know about you, but I would very much like to have known that my _son_ was planning to leave the country! Jumping Jehosaphat, did you really have to hide it from us until now?!"

"I wasn't hiding it, I just didn't—"

"Like hell you weren't! We had no _idea_ that you were planning something like this, let alone that you had already started _packing_ and—" Jake is silenced by Dirk's hand over his mouth.

"What your dad is trying to say, albeit in the douchiest way possible," Jake glares over Dirk's fingers, "is that we're upset you didn't feel like you could tell us. If this is what you want to do, great. We're with you 100 percent."

"…Really?" Adam glances up. "You won't… miss me in the campaign, or anything?"

"Course we're going to miss you, don't be daft!" Jake pries Dirk's hand from his mouth with a combination of teeth and brute force. "And whoever we get to replace you won't be half as good."

Adam shifts in his seat, watching Dirk's posture ease as he nods a silent agreement. When they both pull him into a full hug, he barely has the presence of mind to hug back.

"I'm really proud of you." Dirk mumbles into his hair, and Adam breaks down crying.

"Can I just ask," Jake mumbles as much as he's capable of mumbling, "what were you planning on telling to Miss Egbert?"

"Casey?" Adam wipes his eyes, giving the slightest of smiles. "Well, I mean…I was going to ask her to come with me."

"Do you think she will?"

Adam blinks harder, willing his nose to stop running. "I don't know. But I can at least ask, right?"


	40. I Will Wait

**== >**

" _Am I allowed to say hi yet? Pretty please?"_

" _He's shy, Case." John pets her hair in a failed attempt to calm her down. "Give him a minute to adjust."_

" _I can't seeeeeeee!" Waiting sucks; she's waited for a whole month and he hasn't even responded to her letters. What kind of rude person doesn't write back when he's written to? And now he won't even come out to say hi!_

_Jake holds his hand when he first appears, half-dragging him from his room with forced enthusiasm._

" _John, Casey, I'd like you to meet the newest addition to our family. Adam, come meet— oh for goodness sake!" Jake spins, and Casey barely catches a glance of a tiny foot before the bedroom door slams._

" _Adam! Now you're just being silly, come out and say hello!" Jake scowls, and Dirk eyes the door with contempt._

" _Adam!" Dirk raises his hand. His knocking echoes like a deep, rhythmic drum, eliciting a scared squeak from the bedroom beyond. There's a screen door to the outside behind them, and Casey is sure all the grownups are being stupid. She's going to see what she came here to see, even if they're trying to scare him away._

_His window is on the first floor, thankfully. She's not very good at climbing trees._

_"Hey!" She taps on the glass, peering into the room as best she can. He's a huddled mess on his bed, curled into himself and shaking, and her tapping is barely making any noise over Dirk's continuous awful thumps. She's too small to lift the window by herself, so she just keeps calling until he pays attention._

" _Hey! Hey Adam!" The knocking stops, halted by her father's words ("Dirk, I think you're scaring him more…") and he finally turns to face the_ rat tat tat _on the window._

" _Hello!" She grins, pleased to get his attention until she remembers that she's supposed to be upset. "Why don't you want to be friends?"_

_He tucks his face further into his knees; all she can see is a mop of dark hair and the shine of too-big glasses._

" _Do you not like us?" She tilts her head to the side. "My Daddy's the best, I bet you'd like him if you tried."_

" _I don't like anyone. Leave me alone."_

" _You're mean!" She scowls._

" _You're scary!" He whimpers back._

_Scary. She's never been thought of as scary before. It's kind of cool, like she's some big bad monster in one of mom's stories and can thump around keeping all the terrible people at bay. She'd be a good scary monster one day. But right now, she's still very small and him finding her scary is probably silly._

" _Wait here!" She says, though he's unlikely to be going anywhere. "I'm gonna find something good!"_

_She has to hurry; judging by the new yelling the grownups noticed that she's gone missing. She ducks behind her Dad's car, dodging Jake's probing eye, before opening up the side door to find what she needs. She darts back as quickly as she can.  
_

" _This is CK!" She hisses quietly, pressing a plush red squiddle against the glass. "He's Auntie Jade's friend, and he keeps me company when Mommy and Daddy fight. He's not scary at all, but you have to open the window to get him!"_

_Adam tilts his head up from his knees; for the first time she can see the bright, pale grey eyes shining through his thick lenses. They're big and bright and puffy from crying, and maybe he's really not being rude after all…_

" _Come on, stop being a 'fraidy cat and open the window!" The yelling is getting closer. "Hurry!"_

_Adam uncurls himself, all limbs and hardly any torso. He looks almost like he's approaching, scooting closer to the edge of the bed when a strong arm scoops her up by the middle._

" _Eep!" She squeaks, mortified that she made such a dumb noise in front of her new, only-maybe-rude playmate. Adam's getting father away as she rises off the ground, but his hand is pressed against the glass in curiosity._

" _Gotcha," Dirk's voice is gruff above her head. "Honestly, you're going to be trouble one day."_

" _Nuh-uh!" She grips onto CK tightly._

" _Yuh-huh." Dirk says, voice still in monotone. "Or at least, we're hoping for it."_

_She has no idea what Dirk might mean by that, but there is a head peeking out the window with the shine of too-big glasses, and she feels a swell of pride._

* * *

**== > Be Adam**

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

_F-Four_

_Five_

You swallow again and keep rhythm with your beating heart, hands steady at your sides, but Casey's grin is so wide and cheerful and who knows how long that might last?

"Hey broski, can you give me a hand here? I can't quite reach." She's tugging at your tie, bringing you down for a kiss you don't think you want to be a part of. Her lips are smooth, her hand wound tight in your hair, and there's that surge of adrenaline that makes your heart hurt in the best way possible.

"Casey?" You say, meeker than you want to be. "Can we talk for a second?"

"Can it wait? I've got something I want to show you." She's already turning away when you place a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"No. I don't think it can."

"Yeah, um… do I need to be sitting for this or something?" she jokes, sliding back in her wheelchair with a forced smile. "I don't wanna be caught off guard here."

"Case…"

Her smile fades to a grimace. "Adam, you're freaking me out."

"Case, listen. I… well, I got a job offer."

"That's awesome!" She pushes your shoulder lightly, grin back in place. "Congrats! Man, you didn't have to play it up like you were dying, you know?"

"The job is in England." You say. "I'm flying out in two weeks."

The blood drains from her face, leaving her half-smiling and pale as she trails her hand down your shoulder. Her fingers knot in your blazer, gripping tighter than you would have thought possible for such a small girl.

"Stop fucking with me."

"I'm not. Casey, I'm really not, I'm so sorry-" She releases your shoulder, leaning away in bitter silence, and as tears begin to well in her eyes you feel vaguely like a monster. She swats at your hand when you reach to brush them away.

"Fuck!" She sniffs loudly. "Are you serious right now? After all this shit, you're leaving…?"

"Well, yes, but… I mean…" You had this all planned out in your head, but your nerves are getting the better of you.

"You mean what?"

"I mean that I… if I go, you…"

"I'll what?" She wipes her eyes on her sleeve.

"Come with me." The words are out of your mouth before you quite have time to process them.

"W-What…?"

"Come with me. I'll make more than enough to take care of both of us. We can find an apartment, someplace with a studio so you can draw as long as you like. And I can do my research, and maybe study with the doctors they have, and we could try to help you start walking again..."

"Adam…" Part of you is tempted to close her jaw before she catches flies. "I can't… you think you could fix my back?"

"I think it's possible." The look in her eyes right now is worth all your nerves. "And I can't very well turn down a job that might make it possible. But I want you to come with me."

"I…" She stumbles on her words. "I… what…? What am I gonna do in England?"

"Anything you want." Be with you, like she should have been from the start. You can't do this alone. You were foolish to think you would ever be able to survive across an ocean on your own. "Please. We might have a chance to be happy…"

The edge of her mouth twitches up in what might be a smile, hidden beneath a curtain of tears.

"We could have a pet." She says, color returning to her face.

"Not a dog…"

She shakes her head. "Nah, I'm not that mean. Maybe a frog or a snake."

"I'd have to think about it. A snake, I mean…" You might be able to handle a pet snake. Something small and hair-free and without the ability to chase you down and slit your throat.

"Mhm! Sir Fluffykins Cavendish. You know, because he'd be English."

"And I suppose we'd have to get him a suit of armor?"

She gives you that "duh" look, as if a suit of armor were the most obvious thing in the world to get. "With a heat lamp so he could live in it. Oh, can my studio have a fridge?"

"Every room in the apartment can have a fridge." It takes you a moment to realize that your cheeks only hurt because your smile is too wide.

"Except your study." She smirks. "Everyone knows that eating late at night gives you nightmares."

"I'll have to actually meet you in the kitchen then."

"Or the bedroom."

"Bedroom, singular?"

There's that look again. You might start to feel like you're only of above-average intelligence if she keeps it up. "Did you really think we weren't gonna share?"

"I didn't really know what to think." You think this smile might split your head clean in two. "Should I help you start packing?"

Her smile never fades, but that bright, happy flicker leaves her eyes. "No."

…Oh.

"Casey—"

"Please don't try to change my mind, because it'll be really, really easy. But I can't."

Of course she's right. It was foolish of you to hope in the first place, you are well aware. She has a life here, asking her to leave everything behind to chase you was foolish. None of that makes this hurt any less.

"I don't want to leave you…" You struggle to keep the whine out of your voice.

Her face twists, eyebrows knotted in a futile attempt not to cry. "I don't want you to go."

Her hands pull at your sleeves, easily bringing you to your knees so she might link her arms around your shoulders. There's no way for you to get close enough, you find; no matter how tightly you press her to your chest, no matter how her hair tickles your nose or her breath warms your shoulder she is always going to be just far enough away from you that you cannot keep her.

Her fingers grip into you so tightly that they hurt, and only then can you let your tears fall.

* * *

**== > Be Rose**

You came to visit for the first time in a while, and in the midst of all this turmoil you think you may have been forgotten. It's strange, being on the other side of abandonment. You find that it reminds you of your own time with your mother, a feeling you do not like very much.

John is on the phone in the kitchen, pacing back and forth as he tries his hardest to console a woman you have only met in passing. Her best friend is leaving her, and she doesn't know where else to go. He comforts her, tells her that she has friends here and she will never be alone. She must be completely insane to think that John's house would not be open to her whenever she might need it.

You were that insane once, but that time passed long ago. You only hope, for both of their sakes, that Simone will not make the same mistakes you did.

Your daughter has been unnaturally quiet, locking herself upstairs in her room to study for hours on end. If that were not strange enough, she seems to actually be studying and not lying to keep you and her father out. You might almost be worried.

Approaching the door makes you more nervous than you would care to admit. You knock carefully, never knowing what her mood might be like in times like this. Avoiding a confrontation would be ideal.

"Casey? Could I come in?"

There's a noncommittal grunt from beyond the door that you will take as affirmation. Entering slowly, you poke your head around the entry to see if your daughter would wish to greet you.

The room inside has seen a great transformation over the past few months. Once a pigsty of half-finished drawings and dirty laundry, you find it organized into piles of collective mess. Her desk is cluttered with open books, self-help guides, and color-coded notes on sculpture in the last decade. Casey herself is nowhere near the desk, however, instead focused intently on a big red squiddle currently nestled into her lap.

"Are you coming to say goodbye, too?" She doesn't look up, playing idly with the plush tentacles.

"Soon. Dave will be here to pick me up shortly." She seems less than pleased about that. "But I'd like to talk if you will let me."

"Mmm. This is CK." She gestures to her squiddle. "Jade gave him to me, when she was living with us after Dave had his breakdown. I gave him to Adam when he would stay over, and he and Simone used to play with him on the couch."

"He's got quite a bit of history, hasn't he?"

She nods. "And then everybody left, and he just sat in the corner for the longest time."

You're about to reach down to touch her shoulder when she interrupts. "Is loving someone even worth it?"

"Casey?"

"I mean, people hurt you. Everyone just gets even more messed up than when they started out. And then things get too fucked to fix and someone has to leave, and eventually they'll forget all about you. So why even bother?!" She chucks CK across the room, watching as he slams into her closet door.

"Hey," You start. "It's—"

"Look at you and dad. You walked out and forgot all about him, and Dad moved on and got messed up all over again."

"Casey, I have never forgotten about your father."

She startles slightly, turning to face you in surprise. It hurts you to think that she never understood this, but then again, you never gave her reason to.

"I wouldn't trade the years I spent with him for anything. I have made my fair share of mistakes regarding him, and if I'm honest I still find him to be an obtuse dunderfuck at times, but there were years when we were happy. And if we were never together, we would have never had you."

Casey blinks up at you, wide-eyed in surprise. You take advantage of her silence to continue speaking.

"Falling in love can be a terrible thing, and can go very wrong… but having it go right is going to be worth all of those wrongs one day. I promise. Both your father and Kanaya have taught me that."

She stares at you, awestruck and young and far too bitter for her age. CK is still lying in a heap by the closet, but with a little bit of dusting he looks as close to new as he possibly can. You place him gently back in Casey's lap, watching her fingers close around his tentacles with hesitation.

"Goodbye, dear. I'll see you in a few weeks." You move towards the door, admiring her blank stare as it follows you. "Oh, and please don't be so rude to CK. I doubt he likes being tossed across the room."

She's still silent as you shut the door behind you, taking slight comfort in the quiet click it makes. You move for your purse, passing John in the kitchen with his phone still glued to his ear, and make your way to the front door. You would stop to say goodbye, but the faraway smile on his face seems too precious to interrupt.

Dave is waiting in the driveway, a smirk beginning to wear laugh lines onto his face. Though you will miss everyone greatly, you think it best that you're going home about now. You miss your wife, and you definitely owe her a nice evening.

* * *

**== > Be Casey**

Two weeks have gone by far faster than you imagined they would, with that gnawing fear in the pit of your stomach growing stronger with every passing day. You took down the calendar in your room, the clock in the kitchen, and tried to ignore your phone as best you could. You were sure to make every day count, taking time out from studying and speeding out of PT fifteen minutes early. Adam would be waiting for you as soon as you left the building.

You'd go for driving lessons with him and Simone sometimes, hiding your smile as she tried her best to calm his panic. Sometimes you'd stay back and watch him with Dirk and Jake, sparring and shouting and inevitably winding up in a pile of hair ruffles and well-meaning back pats that left him winded. And sometimes, when you both had a little extra time and privacy, you would spend the whole day in bed. Even the lamest of blanket forts ("Just a blanket, really" he insists) are still blanket forts, and they will shield you from the world for a while.

And that time was wonderful. But, as time is often wont to do, it ran out far too quickly. So here he stands, boarding pass in hand, tall and lanky to Jake's short and stocky and still somehow completely dwarfed by his hug.

"What a brave lad, off on your own adventure! I can only hope you find yourself with the most extraordinary of careers. But I know you will. You're a fine young man and I don't think I could be any prouder."

"Take care of yourself, little man." Dirk claps him on the shoulder.

"Dad, I'm taller than you."

"What's your point?" Adam finds himself unable to answer, instead managing the smallest hint of a smile.

Simone's face is stony when he approaches her, and she runs a light hand along his jaw.

"Promise me you'll get some sleep when you get there?" Her voice is quiet with concern.

His mouth draws into a tight line. "I promise."

"Good. Do you have your tranquilizers for the plane?"

He nods. "I'll take them once I'm past security."

"And did you pack the DVD set I got you? I can always mail you the next season…"

He nods again before falling into her arms, having waited far too long to do so. Her shoulder hides his shaking, and his voice is so quiet you feel like an intruder for listening.

"Thank you so much… for everything."

She shakes her head. "I couldn't ask for a better roommate."

They stay that way for a long time, frozen together in a clinging hug with a grip no one is willing to break. The speaker overhead mumbles unintelligibly, and you force yourself to listen. Any distraction is a good distraction right now, even the talk of a 4:30 flight to the Bahamas.

Your dad squeezes your shoulder gently, bringing you back into the moment. You realize, with the slightest twist in your stomach, that Adam is looking to you.

"I suppose this is it." He mumbles, catching his lip between his teeth.

"Yeah. I guess so." You wish he were closer.

"Casey…" he starts. "This past while has been so amazing, better than I ever thought it could be, and I really… I want…"

He looks away, adjusting his glasses slightly. "I just hope we can still be friends."

"…You hope we can still be friends."

A nod. "I just want you to be happy."

If this boy doesn't shut his mouth soon he is going to be in serious danger.

"What the ever-loving fuck do you MEAN we can still be friends?! Like I'm not gonna be here waiting for you every day! I have waited eighteen fucking YEARS for you Adam Strider-English, and if you think a couple more is going to stop me you are a MORON!"

He steps back from you in slight shock, and you are vaguely aware of people staring. Good. They should stare, because this is important.

"I love you. And if you don't love me back you better say so now because there is absolutely no chance in HELL I am going to give up on you that easy!"

Your blood pumps in your ears, face hot and breath heavy and all he can manage is that idiotic stare. Even the sound of sarcastic clapping can barely reach you past the quickening thud of your own heartbeat.

He kisses you with strength you have never felt before, doing nothing to calm your racing heart, and when he pulls away his eyes are bright.

"I can't ask you to wait."

"Then don't. I'm doing it anyway."

His forehead is steady against your own, his breath tickling your lips with each exhale. Your heart calms enough for you to hear the noise around you once again, with the communications system still blaring inaudibly above all else. A 4:45 flight across the country is boarding, and once again you are running out of time.

"Adam—"

"It's not too late for you to come with me."

"No." Your voice sounds so much more convincing than you feel. "Not now, anyway. But this sure as shit isn't over."

He pulls back, neck moving with the effort of a swallow. "No. It isn't. If you'll wait, I'll come back."

"I'm holding you to that." You say. "Sir Fluffykins Cavendish shouldn't grow up without a dad."

He struggles to hold in a choked laugh as he hugs you one last time.

"Love you endlessly, Casey Egbert."

He stands, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder with ease. He straightens his tie, gives your Dad a hug goodbye, and with one last look over his shoulder, he disappears into the crowd.

* * *

**== > Be John**

Consoling your daughter has never been so hard as it is right now, if only for the fact that she refuses to cry. Through the whole ride home she was silent, staring out the window aimlessly or playing around on her DS. You flipped on the television as soon as you got home; she pulled in next to you, eyes down, face tight, always staring straight at the screen.

It's halfway through a bland period drama that she finally speaks.

"Hey, Dad, I think I want to go to art school." She never looks up from her DS.

You don't know what to say, and a small part of you panics wondering how you'll be able to afford tuition for her, but you don't think she's done talking yet.

"In a little bit, though. Once I'm actually caught up with high school and I have time to work. And probably someplace close by, if you're still willing to let me live at home."

"Of course you can stay, Case. I'm not going to throw you out."

"Thanks." She itches her nose, and you think you catch the slightest hint of a sniffle.

"Did you want to watch something else? Or we can go out, if that would be better…"

"No. No, I'm okay. With what we're watching, I mean." That was definitely a sniffle. She hunches a little further over her game, hiding her face beneath a sweep of hair. You scoot a little closer.

"Casey? Can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" She doesn't react, but you'll take this as an affirmation.

"Please don't take this as a complaint, it's pretty much the opposite, but… why didn't you go with him when he asked?"

She freezes for a second, still hunched over her DS. Moments pass, and you can hear the vaguely digital music spiral in a "Game Over" theme. You have to fight down your paternal instinct to hold her and rub her back; this time she has to come to you on her own.

"I can't yet. He'd have to take care of me, and I don't want that. I'm not…" That's a louder sniffle, and you have to physically work to keep your hand away from her shoulder. "Besides, if I go, who's gonna look after you?"

You feel a surge of warmth flood your stomach. She doesn't seem to mind that your hug resistance is failing, and even wraps her arms around you in turn.

"He had better take care of you at least a little." You brush her hair away from her eyes.

"He will." She grins. And then she buries her head in your shoulder and her back starts to heave.

You stay together for a moment, letting her cry and laugh in peace while you pause to wonder why, after she's proven to you that she's finally capable of making tough decisions, you want to let her go even less.

"Oh, one more thing." She wipes her eyes on her sleeve, and you make a mental note to get extra Kleenex. "Where's Simone going now? Isn't she living alone?"

"I think she is, for now. But who knows? She was talking about staying with Roxy or Dirk and Jake for a while."

"…do you think we should invite her for dinner?" Casey sniffs. "I mean, it's gotta suck being by yourself after all this. I probably wouldn't be doing all that well if I didn't have anyone here for me."

You chuckle, reading between the lines to find a "thank you, Dad" hidden somewhere in there. "I guess you're right. Do you want to call her or should I?"

"You should do it." Casey turns back to her DS, picking up right where she left off. "She likes you, you know."

It takes a moment for you to process that she's messing with you; the tug of a smirk at the corner of her lips gives her away. She chucks you her phone before you have a chance to get a word in edgewise, and you're not sure you'd want to anyways. Instead, you pick up the phone and you dial, waiting for a voice on the other line that hasn't changed in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to come


	41. Epilogue: How Do I Live?

**== >**

It's hard for John to find the words for a moment like this. Something surreal but tangible. A moment he had pictured for his entire life, and now that it's here he doesn't know how to make it last. She makes it impossible for him to think.

Her hair is soft and gold, pulled away from her slender neck with a set of white orchids. She's shaky on her feet, a constant reminder of times past, but she insisted on the heels. Something as frivolous as a shoe would never stand in her way.

"I'll figure it out." She had said with a grin. And here, years later, she has.

She bats a strand of hair out of her face, and he has to laugh a little bit. Of course she would have Kanaya spend an obscene amount of time on her hair only to be frustrated that it's in her eyes. She made the right decision, though. Nothing should ever hide that smile.

"Dad?" Casey jumps, turning to face him. "How long have you been there?"

Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, these register as words directed at him. He's just a bit too shell-shocked to understand them right now. He's got to memorize every detail before he worries about talking, because every detail is important. The light in her hair, exactly how many teeth she shows when she smiles, the way her fingers clench and unclench to smooth out the lace on her dress.

"I didn't really want anyone back here, you know. I wanted this to be a surprise." Her smile shrinks just a little, and he makes a note. Two fewer teeth showing.

"But I'm not the groom, so what's it matter?"

"It's still supposed to be a surprise." She says, hands still tugging her dress. Her smile grows sad, and he can't keep himself away from her anymore. She's almost his height in heels, and yet she still fits in his arms like a child, like she was always meant to be there. He's not sure how she could ever ask him to give this feeling to anyone else.

She's got the strength of two men and the energy of ten, and for a second he thinks she's going to crush him in her grip. Her hands release from his shoulders before she breaks him, but she's been holding him long enough to leave him sore.

"How does everything look? Adam didn't run away yet, did he? I swear I'll kill him if he bailed…" Her voice is shaking, but John doesn't call her on her nerves. He would never dare.

"He's in the other room with Simone, and if anything he's asking the same thing about you."

She laughs, pulling up a chair before landing in it gracelessly. He can see the layers of fabric working to constrict her, and she tries her best to adjust her skirt, but there is just so much skirt to adjust. The light shifts; the sun eclipsed behind a cloud, but her eyes are still bright in the dim light. Just one more detail for him to remember.

"…So this is it." She starts. "The final countdown. The calm before the storm. The ball and chain. The—"

"Yup, Case. This is it."

"Wow." She kicks her heels up onto the nearest coffee table, leaning back onto the hind legs of her chair. John recognizes it as a habit from the days when leaning back was the closest she could get to fidgeting.

"Are you ready?" He asks to no one in particular, but she is the one to answer.

"Yeah." She smiles. "That's the weird thing. I don't think I was ever not ready, you know?"

He resists the urge to ruffle her hair, settling instead on taking her hand. She leans forward, landing with an ungainly "thunk" on the tile below. Even as his chest tightens, even though he feels a bit like crying, her grin is too contagious to ignore.

"Can't you be a kid a little while longer? Please? Just give me two more weeks, I promise I'll make them worth it…"

"Daaaaaaaad." She scoffs. "I haven't been a kid for years. Why is it any different now?"

"I don't know. It just… is." It might be, it might not, he doesn't know. He just isn't ready to give her up quite yet.

"You know…" She pulls her chair slightly closer to him, scraping along the tile as she goes. "I'm still going to be your daughter."

"Do I have to call you Strider-English?"

She pauses, tilting her head sideways with a faraway look. For a little while he's thankful for that funny way her face betrays her every thought.

"You have to call me Casey Serket A.H. Egbert-Strider-English. And you have to call me by my full name every time."

He laughs. "And if I get the order wrong?"

"Then you keep trying until you can pronounce it to my liking." She kisses him on the cheek, and his stomach flutters more than it ever would for any other girl he's known.

"I love you, Dad." She says, throat closing.

"Love you too, Caseadoodle."

She takes his hand, and he helps her to her feet. It takes a moment to straighten her veil, but she's ready. She was ready when she was ten, fifteen, twenty, and now at twenty-six, John finds that he's the only one who hesitates.

But the time for hesitation is over, and she pulls him from the room. Her heels click an awkward rhythm as the door closes behind them, leaving behind an empty wine glass and a big red squiddle that had been loved just a little too much.

**END**


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